


As Time Goes By

by The_Lady_Crane



Series: The Baris Chronicles (or, Soren Got Preggers) [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Crappy illustrations, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Language, Family Drama, Family Feels, Fanart, Guys I think I'm obsessed, I'm Bad At Titles, I'm Sorry, Intersex, M/M, Male Lactation, Male Slash, Mpreg, Priam is Ike and Soren's kid and I don't even care how little sense that makes, Referenced racism, Romance, Sketches, Slice of Life, Some Humor, Soren has draconic traits, Vignette, Why are there so many chapters I don't even, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 32,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21656722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lady_Crane/pseuds/The_Lady_Crane
Summary: Ike and Soren have their hands full raising their son.A series of vignettes focusing on Ike, Soren, and Priam in their new home on the continent of Baris. Follow-up of sorts to New Beginnings.Now with crappy illustrations. Because I got really, really bored.
Relationships: Ike/Senerio | Soren
Series: The Baris Chronicles (or, Soren Got Preggers) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626559
Comments: 115
Kudos: 115





	1. By Your Side

**Author's Note:**

> I really enjoyed writing New Beginnings. I'm not sure if this will go anywhere in particular, but I've wanted to do some domestic fluff ever since finishing "the one where Soren gets preggers". Some of these stories will involve introspection, some will just be silly little moments in their life together, and some will answer questions that I've asked myself about the logistics of two lone mercenaries raising a child in a foreign land. 
> 
> Basically, I am really into this head-canon, and you, dear reader, are along for the ride. Hopefully, somebody out there will enjoy this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Priam's age: about 2-3 years old

_“Ah!”_

_“Soren?” Ike drops the wood axe and rushes inside, where he finds Soren sitting on the floor. “Soren!” He’s at the sage’s side within seconds, checking him over for signs of pain, but Soren’s already waving him off._

_“I’m fine, I just fell. I’m not hurt.”_

_Ike helps him stand and doesn’t let go of Soren’s arm until he’s sure the smaller man is stable on his feet. “Is it…?” Ike glances at the swell of Soren’s abdomen._

_“It’s fine,” Soren says again, his tone a little softer. “It’s growing so quickly that I frequently lose my balance. I’m not used to it. That’s all.”_

_“Maybe you should sit down,” Ike says, and Soren gives a derisive snort._

_“And remain sitting for the next month? I don’t think so. My rear would fuse to the chair.”_

_As amusing as that thought is, Ike can’t bring himself to laugh. “You need to be careful,” he says, giving into the urge to place his hand over Soren’s belly. He’s surprised that Soren doesn’t bat him away._

_“I’m walking around the house, not chasing after horse thieves.” That irritability is sneaking back into his voice. Ike pulls him close, one arm around his slim shoulders and the other around his abdomen. “Ike, please stop worrying. A fall like that isn’t going to hurt the baby.” When Ike doesn’t answer, Soren reaches up to stroke his cheek in a rare show of affection. “We’re fine.”_

_The vanguard leans down, resting his chin on the top of Soren’s head. “I know. I’m just a little on edge.”_

_“Hmm. I’ll say. I haven’t seen you this frightened in a long time.”_

_“I’m not frightened. I’ve just never dealt with this before, OK? I don’t remember my mother being pregnant. I don’t know how…” he hesitates, but Soren knows what he wants to say._

_“You’re not sure how weak I’ve become.” Soren holds a finger to Ike’s lips to stop his protest. “I know you don’t mean to doubt me. I don’t take it personally. My body has experienced a sharp decline in mobility, and my control over magic has become unstable.” He paused a moment, taking stock of himself. “Considering the limitations of my body, as well as the need to protect the fetus, I would say I’m unfit for battle, for obvious reasons. But navigating our house, I can do. So, let me be, if you will.”_

_Finally, Ike smiles. “I guess I should listen to you. You’re the tactician.”_

_“Just so.” Soren leans up to kiss Ike’s jawline before pushing away, walking steadily but carefully to the wash basin. “Now, do you mind? I’d rather not have an audience.”_

_Ike was curious to see the changes that had come over Soren’s body since he’d last seen him bare, but he doesn’t want to annoy the sage. He takes his leave, returning to the wood pile with one last fond glance through the window._

>>><<<

“Mommy!”

“Mmm?”

“Why your hair so long?”

Soren didn’t look up from his work, focusing on the tiny stitches that were coming together swiftly and neatly under his nimble fingers. Sewing had never been his strong point, but with Ike and Priam around, it had quickly become a necessity. “Because it grew that way,” he said after a moment.

“Why?”

“I didn’t cut it, and so it grew.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t want to.” When he was performing delicate work such as this, it was easy to remain patient with the curious child.

“Why din’t you want to?”

“Do you want me to cut it?”

The question seemed to take the boy by surprise. He scooted across the bed and leaned against Soren’s back, burying his little fingers in silky black tresses. “No,” he said at last, petting Soren’s hair thoughtfully. “Daddy likes it like this, huh?”

A small smile played at Soren’s lips. “Yes, he does.”

“Then I’ll protect it from the bad scissors! I’ll guard Mommy's hair.”

“Mmm. Yes, you’re quite a force to be reckoned with.” The sarcasm in his tone escaped the toddler entirely. He puffed out his little chest and rolled out of bed, grabbing his wooden sword from the floor.

“Yeah, stay back, you scissors! Mommy likes his hair long!”

“Truly a warrior,” Soren said, still focused on his work. “Now, if only you could defeat the monster who keeps ripping your shorts…”

Priam froze mid-swing, his chubby cheeks flushing red. “Uh, yeah, I’ll find it.” He looked again to the window. “Mommy, when Daddy gonna get back?”

“He just went to town,” Soren said. “He should be back soon.”

“Is soon a long time?”

He finally looked up and realized that it was later than he’d thought. “… Apparently so.” Soren set aside the needle and thread and folded them neatly inside the half-repaired shorts. “Stay here.”

In the few years since they had moved into this tiny dwelling, they had made several improvements. Originally the storehouse connected to a small stone watchtower, the wooden building had been adapted to house a family. There was a doorway leading to the first floor of the tower, and that had been closed off with a new door – and, once Priam had learned to walk, a deadbolt. The air inside the stone tower was always chilly, and Soren shivered slightly as he walked up the two flights of stairs.

“I wanna see!” Priam said from the base of the stairs.

“Don’t you dare follow me,” Soren’s voice echoed on the walls. “What did we say about the stairs?”

“Don’t climb on them, don’t play on them, don’t even think about them…” Priam mumbled with a pout.

At the top was a trap door. Soren pushed it open, wincing at the loud squeak and making a mental note to oil the hinges later. A cool breeze blew his hair into his face as he emerged onto the platform, and he tucked the flyaway strands behind his ear as he scanned his surroundings. He made sure to shut the trap door behind him, lest Priam be tempted by the burst of fresh air and birdsong. Better that the boy stayed inside, where Soren knew he was safe.

The little house was surrounded by a dense wood – thick, but not very widespread. Not far beyond the tree line was a pasture that stretched over the hilly countryside. Sheep grazed lazily, their flocks shifting and forming like clouds. On a clear day like this, when the sun was beginning to sink towards the distant mountains, Soren could see all the way to the village. Tiny thatched roofs stood in neat rows, disappearing over the curve of the hills.

From here, it was impossible to make heads or tails of the people who were undoubtedly milling around. But there was no smoke, and the warning bells were silent. Soren scanned the countryside, his eyes following the dirt path that led from the village to the pastures. There was no sign of anyone there, so he turned to the west, squinting in the sunlight.

Movement below caught his attention, and he let out a sharp breath as he recognized blue hair and a billowing red cape. Ike was stepping into the clearing that surrounded their house. But something was wrong. Soren frowned when he realized that Ike was limping.

“Ike!” The former general looked up at Soren’s shout. He raised a hand in greeting, and Soren could see blood on his fingers. The sage wasted no time then, jerking the trap door open and descending the ladder as quickly as he dared.

“I wasn’t doin’ anything!” Priam said, his hands behind his back and his back against the wall, obviously having just scrambled down the lower few steps. Soren had just enough presence of mind to pull the child through the doorway with him and then shut the door, engaging the deadbolt hastily.

“Stay inside, Priam!” he said, dashing for the front door. Ike had made it to the gate and was just closing it behind him when Soren came running to his side.

“What happened?”

“Highwaymen,” Ike said, allowing Soren to check him over. Upon closer inspection, Soren saw that he wasn’t injured too badly. The blood on his hands wasn’t his own. He was putting his weight on his left leg, but besides that and a few cuts, he seemed fine. “They attacked on my way back. I had to take them out.”

“I don’t suppose you brought them in for a bounty?” Soren took Ike’s arm over his shoulders and helped him walk up the uneven path to the house.

“Why would I do that? It’s enough that they’re dealt with.”

“We could use the money.”

“We’re fine.”

“That’s not the point.” Soren rolled his eyes. He noticed Priam peeking at them from the window, and he mouthed “stay inside” as they reached the front door.

“You know, you really must be half dragon.” Ike gave his lover a little smirk. “You hoard things.”

Soren huffed. “I’m practical. It never hurts to keep some money for a rainy day.”

There was no point in rehashing the argument they’d been having since they were teenagers. “You’re right,” Ike said, limping through the door. He smiled when he saw Priam, who was standing by the window, looking worried. “Hey, Priam. Did you guard the house while I was gone?”

“Uh-huh,” Priam nodded. “What happened, Daddy?”

“Highwaymen. Bad guys.” Ike winced as he eased himself onto a chair. “It’s nothing too bad. Just twisted my knee.”

“Did’ja get ‘em?”

“Heh, yeah. I got ‘em.”

Soren was silent as he grabbed the healing staff and focused on soothing the pulled ligaments and muscle. Ike sighed as the pain ebbed away. Flexing his leg experimentally, he muttered his thanks as Soren put away the staff. But as he stood and ruffled Priam’s hair, the sage spoke up. “I think we should start taking jobs together again.”

Ike seemed to be anticipating this discussion. He had an answer at the ready almost as soon as Soren had opened his mouth. “We can’t leave Priam alone.”

“He’ll be fine for a few hours. I can ask someone to watch after him.”

The former general didn’t look at his lover as he strode over to the fireplace. Sitting on the hearth, he grabbed the poker and began stirring the embers, building up a fire that was already quite healthy. Priam settled at his side, reaching out and holding onto the poker to “help” his father. Soren remained standing, staring at the back of Ike’s head with a sharp gaze that Ike could feel chilling his spine.

At last, Ike said, “I just don’t see any need for you to come along. I’m fine handling things on my own.”

“They ambushed you last time,” Soren said. “They ambushed you again today. I’ll come and help you take out their leader.” When Ike didn’t respond, Soren went to sit beside him, adjusting as Priam scrambled into his lap. “You never doubted my abilities before.”

“I don’t doubt you,” Ike said softly, still staring into the fire.

“All the same, you’re far too protective of me. I let you coddle me when I was pregnant, but I’ve long since returned to fighting condition. There’s no reason to keep me at home.” He was right, and Ike’s silence proved that the vanguard knew it. Soren shifted as Priam climbed from his lap onto Ike’s previously injured knee, and Ike flinched and pulled the child over onto the other leg. “Why have you been avoiding this?” Soren asked.

It took a moment for Ike to find the right words. “I don’t know. I just want to keep you safe. And with Priam being so young, one of us has to stay home with him, anyway. It…” he let out a puff of breath, finally looking Soren in the eyes. “It was just working out. I don’t see why we have to talk about it at all.”

“I was grateful for the time after he was born, but I want to fight alongside you again.” Soren’s gaze never wavered. Ike hesitated.

“I really could use your help. And I know you’re strong enough now. I just…”

Soren reached up and put his hand to Ike’s cheek, stroking gently. “Stop worrying. That’s my job.”

Ike smirked and leaned into Soren’s touch. “Yeah. OK. We’ll head out tomorrow, if you’re ready.”

“I am more than ready,” Soren said. “For three years, I’ve done nothing more adventurous than go to market.”

“I never figured you for the adventurous type,” Ike said.

“I may not be as energetic as you are, but this domestic life is hardly what I’m accustomed to.”

“And yet, I’ve seen you sit for hours just reading.”

“An adventure of the mind or an adventure of the body, it’s still some kind of activity. Besides, I need to hone my combat magic. I’ve grown rusty.”

“I’ve seen you training. I bet you’ll get out there, and it’ll be like you never stopped.”

Now they were smiling at each other, both remembering battles past where they had worked together as a seamless unit. When they were in top form, nothing could stop them. Every movement was precise, fluid, and fascinating to watch, like a dance played out among the falling bodies of their enemies. Soren longed for that synergy again, and as much as Ike tried to deny it to himself, he missed it as well.

At length, Ike sighed again. “I guess there’s no reason to keep you home. And I guess… I don’t have that right.”

“You don’t.”

“I just…”

“I know.” Soren’s fingers trailed to Ike’s jawline. “But you’re the only one I have, too. I also want to keep you safe.”

They kissed, Soren holding himself up on his knees as Ike cradled a dozing Priam in one arm. “We just need to get back to normal,” Ike said.

“Hm. Or whatever passes for normal for us.”

Priam twitched in his sleep, prompting his parents to look down at him fondly. “Do you really think it’ll be OK to leave him?” Ike asked.

“He’s familiar with Inga. I can barter my accounting services for childcare.”

“She won’t mind?”

“After the stories I’ve heard of her son, taking care of Priam should be a cakewalk.”

Ike smiled at that. “I don’t know, he is pretty wild sometimes.”

“I wonder who gave him that trait?”

It took a moment for Ike to catch the sarcasm in Soren’s voice. “I’m not that bad,” he said with a smirk. “Sure, when I was younger, I would take a notion now and then…”

“Mist told me all about your ‘notions’.” Soren’s eyes shone with mirth. “Apparently, when you were Priam’s age, you loved nothing better than to strip naked and run around the house.”

Ike’s face went red, and he turned back to the fireplace, his expression stoic. “I don’t remember that.”

“That doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen.”

Soren felt better than he had in a long time. Their routine of the past few years was a comfortable and convenient one, but the sage was ready to get out there again. Ike had taught him that sometimes, the best things in life weren’t necessarily comfortable or convenient. He leaned against Ike's shoulder, content to stare into the fire and listen to Priam's whistling snores. 


	2. A Day in Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ike and Priam are sick, and Soren has to care for them.
> 
> Priam's age: 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was Measured who wrote that dragons have no gag reflex, indicating it in their delightful story "Belong". I don't know if I really need permission to borrow this head-canon, but I had to include it, because hot DAMN does that make for some great porn (there's no porn in this story, though; sorry :P ).

Being half dragon certainly had its perks. While Soren had always had plenty of reason to hate the mark on his forehead, to loathe everything it represented, he wasn’t one to scoff at the small benefits of his heritage. He wasn’t very sensitive to the cold, and he had no gag reflex that he knew of (he and Ike had discovered that a while back, and what a memory that was). Perhaps the most convenient thing about his blood was that it protected him from disease. Soren had never had a cold or the flu, and his constitution was much hardier than his appearance would suggest.

Unfortunately, that meant that when his fellow mercenaries had fallen ill, it almost always ended up being Soren who took care of them. And so it was now, in the little woodland house outside the village of Kemo.

A mighty sneeze shook the old rafters, and Soren brushed some fallen dust from his shoulder as he stirred a large pot of soup. A smaller, breathier sneeze followed, like an echo of the first. Soren let the wooden spoon rest on the counter, walked over to the big bed on the other side of the one-room cabin, and pulled a handkerchief out of his sleeve.

“No, don’t wipe on the blankets,” he admonished, bringing the worn cloth to Priam’s little nose. “Blow.”

The toddler was just beginning to come out of the illness that had had him bedridden for a week. His father, who was currently rolled in a blanket next to the boy, was starting to go into the worst of it. Soren laid the used handkerchief on the bedside table and felt Priam’s forehead.

“M’ma,” Priam croaked in a squeaky little voice, “c’n I go play?”

“Not yet. Stay in bed for today, and we’ll see how you feel tomorrow.”

“Mmmmmbut… but i’s snowing...”

“The snow will wait for you. There’s no end in sight yet, so you’ve plenty of time to rest.” Soren tucked the blanket around his child, and gently touched Ike’s shoulder. “Ike, are you awake?”

“Mmph.” Ike’s voice was muffled and stuffy, resonating through his inflamed sinuses.

“How do you feel?”

“Grmph.”

“I’ll have soup ready soon. Then you can take more medicine.”

“Mrghm.”

“Too bad. You’re going to take it, if I have to pour it down your throat.”

“Mph.”

Soren rolled his eyes and went back to the stove. He checked the fire beneath it and then returned to stirring, sniffing now and then and adding seasonings accordingly. “I caught a pair of quails this morning. They’ve boiled up nicely.” Fishing the carcasses out of the broth, he began to shred the meat, working quickly to keep his fingertips from burning. “Inga sent me home with some carrots the last time she sat with Priam. They should add quite a lot of nutrients to this.”

It wasn’t that Ike and Priam were listening to him, and Soren usually wasn’t one to talk to himself. But Ike had once told him that he took comfort in hearing Soren’s voice. Whenever Ike was sick, Soren had picked up the habit of narrating his thoughts just to keep the vanguard company. Whether it did any good or not, it made him feel like he was at least doing something to ease Ike’s suffering. If it would make Ike feel better, then he would keep up this inane chatter for as long as he could, his voice low and even and soothing.

“I never understood those fools who insist that cooking is an art,” he continued, dropping a few peppercorns into the pot. “It’s purely science. If you replicate the same conditions, the same ingredients, the same tools, you come up with the same results every time. There’s hardly anything artistic about that.” He grimaced as he held up a ladleful of shredded meat and chopped vegetables. “Besides, I doubt that anyone would want to hang this on their wall.”

“Mmm… Smells good, m’ma,” Priam mumbled, and Soren smirked.

“At least you can smell again. That’s good news.” Just a few finishing touches, and the soup was ready. Soren dipped up two bowls and came over to the bed again. “Ike, sit up. You need to eat something.”

Even when sick, Ike wasn’t about to miss a meal. He rolled over and shifted so he could lean against the rough wooden headboard, his eyes bleary and his face the picture of misery. Priam sat up and sniffled, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. Soren winced. “Here,” he said, giving one bowl to Ike and setting the other down on the bedside table. It was only after he had cleaned Priam up once again that he sat on the side of the bed, picked up the bowl, and held a spoonful of soup out to the boy.

“I wanna,” Priam groaned, reaching for the spoon.

“You’ll spill. Just let me feed you.”

“’M not a baby!”

“Hm. Then I guess you don’t get any.”

Priam’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth without further complaint.

“’S good,” Ike mumbled against the lip of his bowl. He seemed caught halfway between drinking and just breathing in the aromatic steam.

“Don’t fall asleep in it,” Soren said, focusing on keeping Priam fed and somewhat clean. “Priam, stop slurping like that.”

“I can do that,” Ike said. “’M almost finished.”

“You can barely hold your own bowl. Just eat and then lie back down.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“You’re still taking your medicine.”

Ike groaned, taking another long whiff of the steam. “I can’t remember the last time I got it this bad.”

“Before we left Tellius. You developed a cough that lasted for weeks, remember?”

“Ng. Yeah. Hope this doesn’t stick around like that time.”

“Do we hab’ cold because i’s cold ou’side?” Priam asked through a mouthful of potatoes.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Soren said. “And yes, winter seems to be the season for illness.”

“Why?” the boy seemed to want to talk now, rather than eat. Soren had to push the spoon to his mouth to get him to open up.

“I can only assume that it has to do with the temperature outside. There is a theory that it’s actually because we stay closer together indoors, thus allowing disease to spread more freely.”

“So, I can go ou’side an’ I’ll get better?”

“No. You have to stay inside.”

“But if I go’ sick from stayin’ inside…”

“Eat.”

“But…”

“Eat!”

Ike downed a second bowl before rolling over and falling asleep. Soren woke him to give him the bitter herbal tea, and then left him in peace. But Priam was feeling well enough to stay awake. “I wanna play,” he whined as Soren cleared away the dishes.

“You can play quietly in bed,” Soren said.

“But I feel better now. Can I get up?”

“No.”

“Daaaaaddy!” Priam tapped Ike’s shoulder, receiving a grunting snore in response.

“Don’t wake your father,” Soren scolded. “If you’re so bored, why don’t you practice your letters?”

“Don’ wanna.”

“Then find something else to occupy yourself. Quietly!”

It was getting late in the day, but there was still so much to do. Soren cleared away the dishes, and then retrieved his black cloak from the peg by the door. “Stay in bed, Priam,” he said sternly before opening the front door and stepping out onto the freshly-shoveled walkway.

The seasons were generally mild in their little corner of the world, but this winter had been a harsh one. The yard was blanketed in snow and covered over in a layer of frost. Soren’s boots crunched as he made his way to the gate, hammer in hand and a bag of nails clinking in his pocket. Now and then he looked back towards the cabin, ensuring that Priam wasn’t sneaking out the door. When he finished repairing the gate and went to put the tools away, though, he saw through the window that the boy was still in bed.

Soren thought that Priam must still feel quite unwell if he wasn’t trying to get out of bed. He was still there when Soren passed by with an armload of firewood, and he was still there when twilight finally plunged their little woods in shadow. Soren came inside only when he could no longer see to finish breaking up the frozen soil in the garden.

“Hi, Mommy,” Priam said, not looking up from whatever had kept him occupied for the past few hours.

“Hello, Priam,” Soren greeted, stomping snow off of his boots. “Did your father wake up?”

“No, Daddy’s sleepin’.”

Soren stepped around the bed, checking Ike’s breathing and feeling his forehead. “I’ll have to wake him soon. He needs more medicine.” Then he looked over at Priam with a frown. He couldn’t see the boy’s hands, or what had him so focused. “What have you been doing?”

“Sewin’.”

“What?” The sage went to the other side of the bed and pulled the blankets aside. “Priam, stop that!” He immediately snatched the needle from Priam’s fingers, gathering up the red thread with his other hand. Unable to properly thread the needle, it appeared as if Priam had simply tied the thread to the needle’s end. The spool of thread was now in tangles, more like a ball of yarn than anything. “Where did you get this?”

Priam pointed to the bedside table. “I wanned to learn,” he said.

“What on earth have you been…” Soren’s voice trailed off as he saw just what Priam had been practicing on. The sheets came with the blanket, stopping Soren from tugging it down further. “Priam, did you…?” Soren pulled, finding the sloppy stitches loose but numerous. The boy must have been at it for hours. Taking a deep breath, Soren counted to ten in his head. Then he counted to twenty. “I want to know,” he said calmly, “what possessed you to do this.”

“I dunno,” Priam said with a shrug and a wet sniff. “I wanned to know how.”

Breathe. Relax. Count to thirty. “While I appreciate your dedication to your self-improvement, you shouldn’t handle sharp tools without me or your father supervising.”

“Wha’s sup- super…”

“It means that you are not to use a needle without our permission. You could have hurt yourself.”

“OK.” Priam looked down at his lap, knocking his feet together absent-mindedly.

“Goddess, what am I going to do with you?” Soren retrieved his small scissors from the mantle and began cutting away every stitch. “When I told you to find something to do, I didn’t mean this.”

“What did you mean?”

Pale cheeks flushed red as the sage realized he had set himself up for this. Without answering, he painstakingly cut away the thread, balling up the short strings in his fingers to keep them together. He loved his son dearly, but the boy’s curiosity paired with his restless nature spelled trouble if left to his own devices.

The final stitch came loose after a quarter of an hour of work, and Soren sighed in relief. Priam had fallen asleep again and was curled up with half of his body on the pillow. With a little smile, Soren pulled him down, adjusting him to a more comfortable position and covering him with the now-free blankets. Beside Priam, Ike shifted, rolling over to blink up at Soren. “How are you feeling?” Soren asked, settling on the bed and leaning over the vanguard.

Ike coughed. “Mmph… ‘M OK.”

“You sound like you’ve been gargling hot coals.”

“Mmn.”

“I’ll make more tea.” Soren got up, and Ike shifted, pushing himself up, as well. “Stay in bed, Ike.”

“Gotta go,” Ike croaked, sliding out of bed…

And promptly stumbling to his knees as the blanket caught around his legs. Soren dropped the kettle back on the stove and rushed to Ike’s side. “Here, let me.” Kneeling down, he tried to unravel the mess of blankets, only to find that they would not disengage from Ike’s pants.

“Ugh, it’s stuck… Wait…”

“Feels like…” Ike mumbled, but Soren was way ahead of him.

“Priam!”

“Wha?” the boy sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes.

“Did you sew your father into the bed?!”

“Yeah.” Priam’s tone was as innocent as could be. “I din’t want him to fall out.”

“He what?” Ike frowned in confusion, pulling at the blanket.

“Ike, tomorrow I’m going into town.” Soren took the scissors off of the nightstand and began cutting away again. “I need a lock for the sewing box…”

Ike shimmied out of his pants, causing Priam to laugh hoarsely as his father lumbered out the door in his underwear. Soren settled on the floor, noting how even the stitching had become as it wound down the pant leg. “Maybe from now on, you’ll be able to stitch up your own clothes,” Soren remarked.

“Can I?”

“I would be delighted to hand over that task,” Soren sighed. Then, keeping in mind Priam’s tendency to take him at his word, added, “But only with my permission.”

Priam sneezed, and rolled himself in the covers once more, oblivious. 


	3. Marks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priam contemplates his appearance.
> 
> Priam's age: 5

On the wall by the washbasin hung an old, cracked mirror. It was little more than a piece of glass broken off of a much larger standing mirror, now edged with uneven strips of wood, but Priam was quite taken with it. Sometimes, he would push one of the dining chairs over to the wall and stand on it so he could look at himself in the mirror.

“Daddy, do I look like you?” he asked one afternoon as Ike was re-stuffing the mattress with fresh straw.

“I guess so,” Ike said. “I don’t really remember what I looked like as a kid, but your mother says you resemble me a lot.”

“Mom says I got your hair, but it’s not blue like yours.”

Ike’s mouth quirked into a half-smile. “It sticks up like mine.”

“Oh, yeah! It does!” Priam ruffled his own hair, watching it in the mirror. “But it’s dark like Mom’s.”

“Yep.”

Priam frowned, then grinned widely, then shook his head slowly back and forth. “Where’d I get my eyes from?”

“I don’t know.” In truth, Ike knew exactly where Priam got his blue-gray eyes, as well as the dark blue of his hair. He had stared into eyes very like his son’s almost twenty years ago. But those eyes had looked at him with a mad glint – fittingly, as they had belonged to the Mad King Ashnard, himself. Priam’s eyes held none of his grandfather’s cruelty.

“Mom says I frown like you.” Priam gave his reflection a stern stare.

“Yeah, but your glare is all him,” Ike said with a huffed laugh. When he was irritated or angry, Priam could give a withering glare to rival Soren’s.

“Who do I smile like?”

“I don’t know.” Ike buttoned up the mattress seam and looked at Priam from over his shoulder. “I’ll tell you, though… You laugh a lot like my father did.”

“Like your father?” Priam frowned at himself again. “Do I look like him, too?”

“I guess a little.” The vanguard sat down on the newly-stuffed bed and crossed his arms, considering his son. “If you look like me, and I look like him, then you look like him, too.”

“Am I gonna be tall like Grampa?”

“Who said he was tall?” 

“You’re tall.”

“Heh. Yeah, that’s logical. You get that from your mother.”

Priam’s eyes roamed over his reflection. “I get this from Mom, too,” he said, pointing to the red brand on his forehead. Ike nodded.

“You do.”

Priam’s smile turned downward. “Is it bad to have a mark?”

Ike considered his words carefully before he spoke – something that he rarely did. “Come here, son.” He held out his arms, and Priam hopped off of the chair, running over to climb into Ike’s lap. Ike sat him on his knee, one hand on his back.

“Mom won’t tell me about it,” Priam said. “Is it bad?”

“No. It’s not bad. But…” Ike sighed heavily. “Where we come from, people with marks like that aren’t… aren’t treated well, sometimes.”

“Why?”

“People single out those who are different. In Tellius, a mark like that means that you’re different.”

“How come Mom gave me this mark, then?”

“He didn’t give you that mark. You were born with it.” Ike pulled Priam into a hug and kissed the brand on his forehead. “And I like it. I don’t think it’s bad.”

Priam squirmed out of Ike’s grip and ran back to the mirror. Poking at the edge of the brand, he gave himself a satisfied look. “I’m different,” he said. “Is Mom different?”

“You have no idea,” Ike said with a chuckle.

“Then, I like having a mark. I’m sorry you don’t have one, Daddy,” Priam said, and Ike had to smirk at that.

“I’ll manage.”

“Mom read me a story about a hero who had a mark on his arm,” Priam said. “Am I gonna be a hero someday?”

“If you help people, sure.” Ike got up and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, scanning it briefly before tucking it away again. “Come on, we have to weed the garden.”

Typically, Priam was already out the door at any mention of being outside. Today, though, Ike opened the door and found that Priam was still looking pensively into the mirror. “Hey, Priam, let’s go.”

“Mom doesn’t like this mark,” Priam said thoughtfully. “I wanna make it good, so he won’t be sad about it anymore.”

“Make it good?”

“Uhuh. I’m gonna make Mom proud to have a mark, ‘cause I’m gonna do lots of good things. Then he’ll see that people with marks aren’t bad.”

Ike’s heart gave a lurch. He crossed the room again and stood behind the chair, placing a hand on Priam’s shoulder. “If you do a lot of good in this world, maybe everyone else will see it, too.”

Priam nodded, giving himself that stern look so reminiscent of Ike’s. “Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.” He squared his shoulders, turned to his father, and nodded solemnly.

Ike nodded back. “Then, do it.”

A grin broke out on Priam’s face. “Heh, yeah!” He jumped from the chair and dashed towards the door, his moment of introspection over. “Come on, Dad! Let’s get those weeds!”

Following his son into the bright sunshine, Ike couldn’t help the surge of pride that welled within him. Soren would probably never escape the ghosts of his past, or the self-hatred that being Branded had inflicted upon him. But Priam didn’t know that kind of cruelty. Priam was protected from such a legacy. And perhaps, one day, if he returned to Tellius, his pride in himself would begin to change things for the better. Ike could only hope, but watching the boy tackling weeds as he tackled everything else in life, he felt that it wasn’t such an impossible feat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just a short little thing that turned into something a bit different from what I intended. I think it works, though. I wanted to write about Priam seeing his ancestors in himself, and it ended up being the piece about his brand that I had planned to write separately. 
> 
> Also, I'm not saying that Priam is actually Ike and Soren's kid in canon, but... his hair and eye colors are just like Ashnard's. So, there's that. Ahem.


	4. Onions and Other Dangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priam fights against the most evil vegetable in existence.

Soren wasn’t one to handle his emotions well. At least, he had trouble expressing any emotion other than anger. In Priam’s short life, he had noticed the subtle ways his mother expressed himself. Sure, Soren could yell when he was very angry. He had even seen him laugh a few times. But typically, the cues were gentler than that. A soft quirk of his lips when he was happy or amused; a darkening of his eyes when he was sad; a twitch in his jaw when he was mad.

In all his young days, Priam had never known his mother to cry. So, when he came inside one day after playing in the garden, he was shocked to hear sniffling. Soren was standing at the counter, chopping vegetables for dinner, and he paused now and then to wipe his face on his sleeve.

“Mom?” Priam came up behind him tentatively. Soren turned to him, and the boy gasped as he realized that his mother’s face was puffy and tear-streaked.

“Yes, Priam?” Soren replied thickly.

“Are you OK?” This sudden outburst of emotion was new to Priam, and it scared him.

“I’m fine.” Soren returned to his task, and the rhythmic staccato of the knife on the cutting board filled the little house once more.

“But…” Priam shuffled his feet. “You’re crying.”

“I’m not crying.”

“But you are! Why are you crying? Did somebody hurt you?”

“No, Priam.” Another pause as Soren wiped at his eyes. “It’s just the onions.”

“Huh? The onions?” Priam frowned.

“Mmm. This batch is exceptionally strong.” He sniffled again.

Priam’s frown turned into a glare as he saw the large bag of onions sitting on the floor. He didn’t stop glaring even as he was directed to wash up, and his gaze remained set as he set the table. It was news to him that an onion could hurt anyone, and he wasn’t exactly sure how they were making his mother cry. But one thing was for certain – those onions would pay.

>>><<<

Summer evenings were often pleasant in Baris, and perfect for a bonfire. Refuse was piled well away from the house, on a patch of dirt near the stone wall that separated their yard from the forest. Ike tossed on a few strands of creeping vines that he had torn from the watchtower wall. “Care to do the honors?” he asked with a little bow to Soren.

It was nothing for Soren to mutter a spell to send sparks from his fingertips. Without a tome, there wasn’t enough power to cause damage; but the sparks caught on the dry leaves and soon became a spreading flame. Ike and Soren watched for a moment, until the fire grew and began to consume its fuel. Then, Ike grabbed a stick from the ground and pulled a paper-wrapped package from his pocket.

“Really?” Soren’s mouth quirked into a half smile.

“I’m hungry,” Ike said, pulling a small sausage from the pack and spearing it on the stick. “Want one?”

“That’s alright. You enjoy yourself.” Soren settled on the cut log that served as a bench, and Ike plopped onto the dirt next to him, extending the sausage stick towards the fire.

“I saw some travelers do this a while back,” Ike said. “I figured, it’s a smart way to cook on the go.”

“Hm. I’m sure.” Soren leaned on Ike’s shoulder, watching the flames contentedly. Then, Soren snapped to attention. “Where’s Priam?” he asked.

“He was playing inside,” Ike said.

As if on cue, they both heard a scream of terror. They both scrambled to their feet in time to see Priam running out of the house, clutching at his face. Soren’s heart nearly stopped. He rushed over, faster than Ike could keep up with, and dropped to his knees at Priam’s side as the boy sobbed into his hands. The smell of onions was heavy on him.

“Priam, what’s wrong? Tell me what happened.”

“It hurts! Ow, ow, ow!”

Soren scooped his son into his arms and made for the well. A bucket was already drawn, and Soren dipped his hand in to run it over Priam’s face. “Put your hands down. Priam, listen to me! Put them down, now. That’s it.”

“What happened?!” Ike came running up, his eyes darting around out of habit to check for threats. Soren sighed.

“I think he got into the onions. Smell him.”

Ike took a whiff and coughed. “Damn, Priam, what did you do?”

The boy’s face was red, his eyes squinted shut against the stinging. “They really are strong!” he cried, trying to wipe his face but held back by Soren’s arm around him. Soren continued to drip water over his eyes. “I tried to get them, but they stung me!”

“Don’t touch your face,” Soren said. “Calm down. You’ll be alright.”

“What do you mean, you tried to get them?” Ike knelt on Priam’s other side and patted his head soothingly. Priam bit his lower lip to keep himself from sobbing.

“I stabbed ‘em with my pocket knife,” he whimpered. “Because they hurt Mommy.” Lately, he only said “Mommy” when he was upset.

“Priam, onions always sting your eyes when you cut them. It’s because of the oils inside them.” Soren used his long sleeve to dab at Priam’s eyes. “Come on, let’s get the cleanse staff. You shouldn’t have rubbed your eyes like that.”

Ike was loath to admit, later that night, that the smell of onions permeating the house made him want to gag. Priam had really gone to town, stabbing the offending bulbs so that there were scraps and bits of juice everywhere. Soren had made Priam clean it up, and now the windows were all open to air the place out.

“If we never have onions in this house again, it’ll be too soon,” Ike said gloomily, leaning out of a window and breathing deeply.

“I’ll make sure they don’t come back!” Priam said.

“No, you won’t,” Soren groaned. “I told you, they aren’t out to get us! They’re just vegetables! What is wrong with you?”

“I swear, I’ll never let another onion near us again,” Priam said solemnly. Soren shook his head. The boy wasn’t even listening.

The reek of onions remained for days, though, and in the end, Priam got his wish. It was years before Soren touched an onion again. As for Ike, he would refuse to eat them for as long as he lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was making dinner when the idea for this fic came to me. Obviously, it involved onions. These were some potent son'bitches. I'm not typically bothered by the fumes from cutting onions, but these were awful. I was crying and sniffling for an hour afterwards. T_T
> 
> Priam's age: 5


	5. A Quick Sketch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was practicing drawing Ike using his FEH picture as a reference, and then added Priam on a whim.
> 
> Priam's age: 5


	6. A Glimpse of the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he crunched his way through the woods, Priam told himself that it wasn’t the last time. Yet somehow, as he emerged into the clear air and the sunshine, he knew that it was.
> 
> Priam's age: ??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ugly cried as I wrote this, and I am not ashamed to admit it.

The crunch of dead leaves sounded loudly in the stillness of the woods. Nobody had walked through them in a very long time; the path was no longer visible at all. Birds and small animals scattered as the man came to the garden gate, now overgrown with ivy and rusted beyond use. He tried to open it and saw that the hinges would break if he applied too much pressure. With a shrug, he vaulted over the short wall, landing with a heavy thud of his worn leather boots.

A nostalgic feeling filled his heart as he approached the little house. It was still well-kept, the garden plot still tidy and flourishing. Smoke emerged in wisps from the chimney. He could imagine, for a moment, that he was just coming in from play, just arriving after visiting friends.

He stopped for a moment to nod respectfully to the little stone shrine built against the low wall.

The door opened as he stepped onto the mat. The house was warm inside, almost stiflingly so, but it was welcomed on his chilled face. He stepped inside, not surprised to find that the door had opened seemingly of its own accord (growing up as the son of a powerful sage had him used to all kinds of oddities). Inside was clean, if a little cluttered. “Sit down,” a voice called from somewhere. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

No sooner had he sat in a creaky wooden chair than a figure emerged from the only other room in the house. He was tall, thin, frightfully pale except for the black robes that he wore. His hair was a long sheet of black streaked with silver. He didn’t smile, but his red eyes glinted joyfully. “Priam,” he said, “you never did remember to take your boots off at the door.”

“Oh! Sorry.” The visitor hurried to do so, tossing the dirt-caked leather towards the door.

Soren sighed. “I’ll clean them up before you leave.” He crossed to the kitchen area, set a small glass vial of something onto the counter, and then came to join Priam at the table. “What brings you here?”

Priam shrugged. The compulsion to return to Kemo, to his childhood home, had been strong in the past few weeks; but he had no idea from where it had sprung. “I dunno. Just felt like coming home for a while. How’ve you been?”

“Busy. Solitary. Somewhat arthritic.” He grimaced as he flexed his fingers.

“Arthritic?” Priam cracked a smile. “You? You don’t look a day over forty.”

“I am over a hundred years old, you know,” Soren said. “I see that you have grown quite a bit.”

“Have I?” It hadn’t been very long since Priam had left home to travel, but he had changed in that short time. His face was leaner, squarer, his voice much deeper. He had been a proper man when he’d left four years ago, but now he really looked it.

“Mmhm.” The corner of Soren’s mouth tilted upward, just slightly. “You look so much like your father.”

“You think?” Priam grinned. It was an emboldening thought. He couldn’t remember very well what his father had looked like when he was young. All he recalled was the wrinkled face, the gray hair. If he stared at his own reflection, though, he could sometimes remember bits and pieces from his early childhood.

“Of course, you haven’t had children. You go gray very quickly once you reproduce.”

“Heh, was I really such a terror?”

Soren raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m joking? He must have gained two gray hairs a day, one for every stunt you pulled.”

Priam laughed at that, leaning back in his chair. A heavy feeling was beginning to well up in his chest, so he changed the subject. “You still playing wizard for the townsfolk?”

“Mostly doing accounts. I don’t take much work anymore.” Soren stood and took the kettle from the fire, pouring coffee for the both of them. It was bitter and strong, and it brought Priam right back to his youth, when that scent had filled their little cabin every morning. He sipped it, savored it, drowned himself in memories for a moment.

“I’m glad you’ve come,” Soren said, staring into his own mug. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Really?” Priam looked up. “You could have sent a message…”

“It’s not urgent. But it’s good that you’re here, in any case.” Soren looked at him, his ruby eyes piercing. “I want you to take Ragnell when you leave again.”

The taller man frowned, set down his mug. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I think it’s time that it was passed to you.”

Priam wasn’t sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, he had always – from the time he was very small – dreamed of taking up the legendary sword. He had imagined himself wielding it against mighty foes, just as his father had. But he couldn’t reconcile that fantasy with the reality: That he was not his father, and he was hardly worthy to possess it. Ike had been gone for many years, but it still felt wrong to even think of holding Ragnell in his hand.

“There are some other things, too.” Soren stood up, leaving his coffee on the table. Priam watched, curious, as he went to a chest at the foot of the bed. Soren unlocked it with a silver key, dug around for a moment, and came back with a stack of small parcels and papers in his hands.

“What’s this?”

“A few of these things are for you to take with you, if you want them.” Soren set them out on the table in front of Priam. “A few, you’re going to take whether you want to or not.”

“Why are you giving me these things? You know I travel a lot. I don’t exactly have room…”

“You’ll make room,” Soren said, holding out the first thing – a folded square of faded green cloth. Priam took it, unraveled it, and his breath caught in his throat. “You recognize that, of course,” Soren said. “How many times did I catch you wearing it when you were small?”

“Yeah.” Priam fingered the cloth gently, allowing the gold thread at one end to glisten in the sunlight. The pattern was worn, but still there. Without another word, he reached up and tied it over his forehead, knotting it carefully in the back, just as his father once had.

“This,” Soren held out a book bound in red leather, “is something I wrote. I want you to take it with you – I have a copy, myself.”

Priam took the book and opened it, flipping through it and finding it filled with Soren’s small, neat writing. “Is this…?”

“I spent the better part of ten years writing that,” Soren said. “Whenever you would allow me a free moment, of course. You can read it now. I think I’m ready to share my secrets.”

“OK.” Priam tucked the book into his pack, which he had set on the floor near his feet. He knew what the book contained. It was the story of his parents, from Soren’s earliest memories to their departure from Tellius. He had wanted to read it, but Soren never allowed him. Priam’s frown deepened. “Why are you letting me read it now? What changed?”

“I just think you’re old enough,” Soren said simply. Priam knew that wasn’t the reason, but he also knew when to drop the subject. His mother was like a brick wall when it came to sharing his motivations. “Here, these are what I want you to take, regardless. They’re letters.”

“Ugh, they’re not love letters, are they?”

Soren glared at him, and Priam chuckled. “They are letters of recommendation,” Soren said. “In case you ever travel to Tellius. There are people there who might be interested to meet you, and if you want, you can bring those to them. They’ll prove who you are.”

Priam shuffled through the envelopes, reading the names off. “King Tibarn, Prince Reyson, King Kurthnaga… You know some powerful people.”

“Indeed.”

“Gawain… Who's that?”

“I have heard that your aunt Mist had several children. Gawain is your cousin, and he is currently the head of the Greil Mercenaries.”

The swordsman’s eyes widened. “Have you been back to Tellius?”

“No, but I have ways of finding these things out.” Soren smirked. “I’m not so reclusive as you might think.”

“You are full of surprises…” Priam put the letters into his pack with the book. “Anything else?”

“Just this.” Soren pushed the last parcel across the table. It was a small box, wrapped loosely with twine. Priam untied it and opened the box, finding a round red gem inside. “That came off of a sword that your grandfather gave to your father. It broke long ago, but it was very important to him.”

Priam put the gem back into the box, closing it carefully. “Why are you doing this? You’re talking like I’m never gonna see you again.”

“You never know what may happen, Priam.”

“Always pragmatic, huh?” He gave a bitter chuckle.

“Take it or leave it, it’s all the same to me. I just thought that you might like to have it.”

Priam tucked the box into a smaller pocket of his backpack.

>>><<<

Priam remained in the little house for two weeks. Something was compelling him to stay for as long as he could, and for a time, it won out over his natural restlessness. Soren put him to work almost immediately – chopping wood, patching the roof, weeding the garden. Priam grumbled about it, but he was actually happy to be set to such mundane tasks once more. It really felt like home again, he thought as he dragged a sack of fertilizer through the yard.

Every day, he and Soren sat by Ike’s grave and reminisced. Every day, the sight of Ragnell stuck downward through the back of the tombstone sent a thrill of anxiety and excitement through Priam’s chest.

In truth, Priam wasn’t eager to get his hands on the blade. He still felt as he did when he was younger, lifting it from the bracket on the wall and giving it a few swings before his father could catch him at it. He wanted it, but it felt as if he shouldn’t have it. It felt wrong, somehow.

Then Soren came inside one day, and Priam saw that he held Ragnell in his hands (surprisingly steadily for one who appeared so frail, but Priam knew better than to doubt Soren's strength). “You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?” Soren’s eyes flicked to the backpack standing ready by the door, and Priam gave a guilty little smirk.

“Yeah. The rains will come soon, and I wanna be well on my way before then.”

“I thought as much.”

“Do you want me to…?”

“There’s no point in you staying here,” Soren said bluntly. “You shouldn’t waste your life sitting around this old place. Here.” He held out the sword.

It was with a trembling heart that Priam took it, but his hand was quite steady. He felt the weight of it, felt the power in its craftsmanship, and somehow it wasn’t as he’d remembered it. In his younger days, the sword was always an intimidating force, difficult for him to even hold, let alone wield effectively. But now, he held it so easily. It was lighter, swifter than he remembered.

His own greatsword was propped against the wall next to his bed. He took the holster from the nightstand, fixed it around his chest, and slid Ragnell neatly into the back. Soren nodded in approval. “It suits you,” he said. Priam thought that he could hear a tinge of emotion in Soren’s voice, but he turned away quickly and busied himself at the fireplace. Priam went to the mirror hanging over the washbasin and admired his reflection. He could almost see his father standing behind him, an echo of a time long ago.

He left on a clear day, as a warm breeze blew through the valley. Soren stood at the newly-repaired gate (he hadn’t asked Priam to do it, but Priam got annoyed with having to hop the fence every time he went into town). “Take care of yourself out there,” he said. “Don’t do anything stupid. Or, stupider than usual for you.”

“I won’t.” Priam grinned.

“Be sure to keep your boots in good repair.”

“I will.”

“Don’t take shelter in a cave unless you can see all the way through it.”

“Jeez, I know that already!” Priam gave a short laugh. “What, you think I’m not used to travel?”

“Perhaps it’s because you’re going alone. You have nobody to remind you of these things.” Soren’s gaze was fond, despite his chastising tone. “Send a letter now and then.”

“I always do.”

Priam gave a little wave and started down the hidden path through the woods. Then he stopped, turned, and rushed back. Soren flinched as Priam swept him up suddenly in a tight hug; the sage’s toes dangled above the ground. “What’s this for?” Soren asked, his voice somewhat muffled in his son’s chest.

“I…” Priam blinked, and found to his shock that his eyelashes were wet. “I don’t even know.”

Soren reached up and embraced him, and soon the feeling passed. Priam set him down again. “Take care, Priam.”

“Mother…”

“Never have any regrets.” Soren’s gaze was steady, though his eyes were shining with unshed tears. “I’m… proud of you.”

As he crunched his way through the woods, Priam told himself that it wasn’t the last time. Yet somehow, as he emerged into the clear air and the sunshine, he knew that it was. Ragnell weighing against his back, his headband fluttering in the breeze, he set out into the world.


	7. As You Grow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ike contemplates parenthood and all its pitfalls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little introspective fluff to make up for the last chapter.
> 
> Priam's age: 5

Sometimes, Ike couldn’t believe that he was a father. There were times – usually early in the morning, or late in the evening, when he was a bit drowsy – when he would look at Priam and feel as if he were living someone else’s life, with someone else’s son. But there was the proof, plain as day; Priam would look up at him so happily, grinning from ear to ear, and say, “Daddy!” Ike would feel that tug at his heart, and once again, it was real.

Being a parent was far more anxiety-inducing than he had ever imagined. He worried about Priam, about his future, about his health, about his scraped knees and nightmares and temper tantrums. There were so many questions, and he had nobody to ask. Never had he missed his own father so sorely than on the day he’d learned that he was to be a father, himself. Sometimes, as he went about his day, he would search his memory for any little scrap of information about how Greil and Elena had raised him. Did they make him do chores when he was very young, or was that something that only happened as he got older? Did his father check under his bed for monsters at night? Did his mother tell him stories? What kinds of stories? Ike didn’t know any stories to tell Priam, but he thought he could remember his mother doing that for him. Even such a small thing could make him feel like an utter failure.

The one thing in which he was absolutely confident was Priam’s training. There had never been any doubt about Priam’s interests. He’d been trying to get ahold of Ragnell since before he could walk. Ike had never felt prouder than the day he took his small son out into the yard and gave him a stick to hold. Priam had looked at it, giggled that bubbling laugh, and whacked Ike square on the forehead. Ike had been elated. Sore, but elated. Right off the bat, there was something that he could teach his son, something that he knew like the back of his hand.

At two years of age, Priam had simply whacked at Ike’s shins like a tiny wild animal. At three, he had begun to copy Ike’s moves, clumsily but with purpose. At four, he was getting into a proper swordsman’s stance as soon as he picked up his little wooden sword. Now, at five years of age, Priam stared at Ike with serious intent, eager but guarded. He had learned much simply by observing, and the rest he learned when Ike would knock him down with a swing of his practice sword. Ike never did use his full strength, but he pushed as hard as he dared, feeling conflicted as his father must have felt (proud, scared, just a bit amused at how angry Priam became as he lost time and time again).

“Let me hit you!” Priam shouted, stamping his foot, and Ike took the opportunity to poke the boy in the stomach. He didn’t use much force, but it didn’t take much to send Priam falling onto his rear. “No fair!” The boy whined. “Let me hit you, Daddy, just once!”

“Your enemies won’t let you hit them,” Ike said. “Not even once.”

“Rrrrrrgh!” To Ike’s delight, Priam never gave up. He stood again, lunged, attacking Ike’s sword with vigor and determination. He was strong for his age, Ike thought. He sidestepped and jabbed and copied all of the moves he had carefully observed Ike using. Again, Ike poked him. Again, Priam sprang up and attacked. For what he lacked in size or skill, he made up in energy.

There was a moment where the thrill of battle flared within Ike. He was ecstatic, training with Priam and passing on his father’s knowledge. He brought the wooden sword down, and it struck Priam’s back just a bit harder than Ike had intended. Priam flew forward onto his hands and knees, and Ike cursed himself, fell to his knees beside the boy.

Priam wasn’t crying. He sat back and rubbed his shoulder, sniffled once, and then glared up at his father. “Cheap shot!” he said.

“You’re right.” Ike dropped the sword and, with a relieved laugh, scooped Priam up into his arms. He prodded carefully at the boy’s back, but Priam seemed unharmed. Ike held him tight. “We’re done for today. Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

“Yeah! I want turkey leg! Can we have turkey leg, Daddy? Pleeeeease?”

It was amazing that Priam wasn’t hurt, and even more amazing that he didn’t falter. That feeling – the feeling that Ike called “parental feeling” – was back with its mixture of fear and guilt and sorrow and joy and hope. “Sorry about that,” he said into Priam’s wild hair. “You’re sure you feel alright?”

“My enemies won’t say sorry,” Priam said seriously. Ike laughed at that.

“Yeah.” He would do Priam no favors by coddling him. He knew that, but it was hard not to feel protective. One day, Ike mused, he wouldn’t be around to protect Priam. Then, he would have to know how to protect himself. It was a perilous balancing act, he thought, and his father had done it so easily.

Had Greil felt this frightened, then?

“Priam,” Ike said. “Grow up big and strong, OK? One day, you’ll be a great warrior.”

“I will,” Priam said simply, prompting Ike to smirk at his arrogance.

“Who made you so full of yourself?”

“Uh… Me, I guess.” Priam shrugged. “I want bacon with my turkey!”

Shaking his head, Ike carried Priam toward the house. With that attitude, the boy might just make it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was deliberate paraphrasing of Greil's line from PoR at the end, because I'm a sucker for cliches like that.


	8. Interruptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soren should be more mindful of how literally children can take things.
> 
> Priam's age: 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might turn this idea into a comic later. It's just a silly little thing based on something that my own mother once said to us when we tried to interrupt an adult conversation. Naturally, I think Priam would take it a wee bit differently than my sisters and I ever did. Decide for yourself what happened at the end of this story.

Priam came out of the house one day to find Soren standing by the stone fence that delineated their yard’s boundaries. A stranger was standing on the other side, leaning on a long-handled wood axe and patting the donkey that was attached to a cartful of wood.

“Mom?”

Soren didn’t stop his conversation with the farmer. They were discussing the prospect of some extra day labor around the farm, to assist with repairs for storm damage. <I’d be grateful to you and your husband,> the farmer was saying.

<How grateful?> Soren asked in the Barisian tongue, rubbing his fingers together for emphasis of his point. The farmer chuckled.

<Sir, you are as shrewd as they come.>

<I have a family to feed,> Soren said simply.

“Mom!”

<Of course, we all do,> said the farmer with a good-natured smile. <Hey, where is Ike, anyway?>

<Running an errand for someone,> Soren said.

“MOM!”

<Heh. I think the little one wants you.>

<He knows better than to interrupt. Now, about the cost of the materials…>

Priam huffed. As Soren and the farmer weren’t speaking Tellian, he figured that it was a communication problem. He switched languages. <Mother!>

<Say, how much does he understand?>

<He’s fluent,> Soren said. <But ignore him.>

<MO-THER!> Priam came stomping across the yard and tugged on Soren’s trailing sleeve.

Soren had plenty of patience to spare for his son but being pulled on crossed the line. “Priam!” he snapped, yanking his arm away.

“Mom!” Priam countered stubbornly.

With an apologetic glance to the farmer, Soren looked down at the boy. <Priam, tell me... Is something on fire?>

Priam blinked, looked around, blinked again. <Um… No?>

<Unless something is on fire, you do not interrupt me. Understood?>

The boy pouted. <Yes, sir…>

Returning to the conversation, Soren paid Priam no mind as the six-year-old walked back across the yard.

Nor did he notice when Priam went into the house and came back out with a book of matches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's a little incoherent, I'm sorry - I'm sick right now and on cold medicine, so things that make sense to me may not make sense to anyone else.


	9. Three Pigs and a Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ike tells Priam a bedtime story.
> 
> Priam's age: 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still sick, still on cold meds. Can't sleep. Felt like writing something. A little humor, a little fluff, but maybe it won't make a lick of sense once I recover and read it again with fresh eyes. Oh, well!

“Where’s Mom?”

Ike looked up from the fireplace, pausing as he stirred the embers to life again. “He’s out doing accounts for the general store,” the vanguard said.

Priam was still in his little bed, but he was looking at the front door with a worried expression. “It’s dark out,” the boy said.

“He’ll be home soon,” Ike reassured him, adding another log to the fire before hanging up the poker and dusting off his knees. “Don’t worry about him.”

“What if bandits get him?” Priam asked seriously.

“Nah, he can fight off bandits,” Ike said with a little smile that came with no small amount of pride. He had worried before, but after seeing Soren back in action, he was no longer concerned. Besides, their reputation had been more than enough to keep the area clear of highwaymen for the past two years.

“What if he meets a big wolf?” the five-year-old fretted.

“He can fight those, too. Though, I don’t think there are any wolves in this part of the country.” Ike sat on the edge of the cot and patted his son’s knee. “He can take care of himself.”

“OK…” Priam pulled the red blanket up a bit, his fingers clutching the edge tightly. Then he sat bolt upright, his eyes wide. “What if he falls off a cliff?”

“Uh… There aren’t any cliffs between here and the village.” Ike scratched his head. “Priam, why don’t you just relax and go to sleep? I can wake you up when he gets back, if you want.”

Priam’s lower lip trembled. “I can’t sleep 'til Mom tells me a story.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Ike glanced at the bookshelf, which was overflowing with tomes and manuals and a few storybooks that the sage had gotten for Priam.

“Daddy, can you tell me one?” Priam asked.

“Well…” Ike’s ever-present frown deepened. “I don’t know how to read Barisian. I don’t think there are any storybooks here in Tellian.”

“Don’t you know any stories?”

“Let’s see…” The former general crossed his arms, thinking carefully. He still couldn’t remember much of his early childhood, but he thought he could recall the tales that Mist would sometimes talk about. “There is one, about three pigs.”

“Yum, I like pig!” Priam said eagerly, and Ike had to chuckle at that.

“Not pork. These pigs went out into the world and, uh…” his brows furrowed again. “They, uh, went to go take a basket of… something to their sick grandmother. I think.”

Priam frowned. “How did pigs carry a basket?”

“It’s a fairy tale,” Ike said simply. “Everything talks and walks like a person does. OK, so, these three pigs went out to carry something to their sick grandmother.” As he spoke, Priam settled back against the pillow, listening with a sleepy look in his eyes. “They had to go a long, long way…”

“What were their names?”

“Um… Oscar, Boyd, and Rolf.”

“Hehe, those are funny names.”

“Heh, yeah. So, Oscar, Boyd, and Rolf took this journey to go see their grandmother…”

>>><<<

It was a beautiful day in the forest when the three little pigs set out. The eldest pig, Oscar, carried a basket of bricks; the middle, Boyd, carried a basket of sticks; and the youngest, Rolf, carried a basket of straw.

Oscar: “What a lovely day to go see our dear sick grandma!”

Boyd: “Why the hell are we carrying this stuff to her?”

Rolf: “Nothing makes sense in a fairytale, remember?”

On the way, they came to a rickety old bridge. It was a scary-looking thing, with old and rotted wood. The three pigs didn’t know what to do, because the bridge spanned a raging river that would be very hard to cross otherwise.

Boyd: “Well, dammit. What’re we gonna do now?”

The oldest pig had an idea. “I know! We’ll use your sticks to fortify the bridge. Then we can cross safely.”

So, they did just that. They used up the sticks, and fixed the bridge, and went on their way.

(“But now they don’t have any sticks for grandma!” Priam pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s the point,” Ike said. “They have to… Well, just listen.”)

They kept going, until they came across a little cottage inhabited by three bears.

(“Bears? Don’t bears eat pigs?” Priam asked suspiciously.

“Who’s telling the story?”

“Sorry, Daddy.”)

The bears were in an uproar, because the big, bad dragon kept coming to their house and burning it to the ground. “Our house is too hot! We don’t know what to do!” they said.

“I know!” said the oldest pig, “We can use my bricks to make your house not flammable.”

Rolf: “But what about Granny?”

Boyd: “What does an old biddy need with bricks, anyway?”

So, they used the bricks to build a fire-proof house for the three bears. The bears were very grateful, and the pigs continued on their way.

Soon after that, they came to a hen who was clucking about the sky falling. “A piece of it just fell on my head!” she screamed.

Boyd: “What is this, field trip day at the nut house?”

Oscar: “Shush.”

The youngest pig felt so bad for the poor crazy hen that he made an umbrella out of his straw to give to her.

(“Did the sky really fall on her head?”

“No, that was just an acorn. But, that’s another story.”)

Not long after that, they came to their grandmother’s house.

Titania: “Oh, don’t you dare make me…”

She was a venerable old warrior, and she was really glad to see the three pigs.

(“Was she a pig, too?”

“No.”

“Then how was she a grandma to the three pigs?”

“…”

“Dad?”)

“I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said. “But where are the things you promised to bring?”

Well, they had to admit that they’d given away all their supplies. They had no bricks to build a cooking pit, no sticks to use for fuel, and no straw to light it.

(“Oh, that’s why they had those things! You didn't forget, Daddy!”

“Your father’s smarter than he looks, boy,” Ike said.)

Titania: “You idiots! What are we going to do now? How are we supposed to cook all this baco—I mean, all these potatoes?”

But they didn’t have to worry for long. There was a burst of song from the woods, and the three bears came marching over the hill, each carrying a large pot of porridge. The bears had been so grateful to the pigs that they whipped up a nice dinner and brought it over to share. So, everyone ate well that night, and granny got all better. The end.

>>><<<

Priam stared at Ike. “So, they gave away their stuff… and didn’t get bacon.”

“Potatoes,” Ike corrected.

“But they got porridge.”

“Yeah.” Ike nodded. “They learned that when you’re generous, people are often generous in return. So, you should always do good deeds for others.”

“That’s the worst possible moral you could teach the boy,” Soren said.

“Mom!”

Ike looked up as Soren closed the door. “Hey,” he greeted. “How did it go?”

“I got us a nice bonus,” Soren said, jingling the coins in his pocket. “I see you’ve taken some liberties with the original stories.”

The vanguard grinned sheepishly. “I can’t really remember how they’re supposed to go. How long were you listening?”

“Long enough.” Soren sat on the bed beside Priam and patted his head. “What you forgot to mention is that the bears were trying to lure the dragon away with all that porridge, because bricks are not, in fact, impervious to dragon fire. So, the dragon came and roasted them all.”

Priam laughed. “Cool!”

“No, that’s not what happened,” Ike said, pulling Soren close. “The dragon came, but then a woodsman appeared and gave him a sandwich.”

“A sandwich?” Priam asked as Soren’s cheeks went red.

“That’s right,” Ike said sagely. “And the dragon, who had really just been hungry and scared all along, was so touched that he agreed to stop burning people’s houses down.”

Soren gave Ike a sideways glance, but smiled, nonetheless. “Unless they deserved it.”

“Unless they deserved it,” Ike amended.

Priam gave a wide yawn. “I liked Daddy’s story,” he said. “Can I hear another one tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Ike said, leaning over to kiss his son’s forehead. “Sleep now, OK?”

“Good night, Priam.” Soren nuzzled the child’s cheek and then stood, waving his hand to dim the lamps.

Ike followed Soren into the little kitchen area. “You know,” he said softly, “the woodsman learned that sometimes, dragons just need to be loved.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t burned to a crisp for his troubles?” Soren asked with a teasing glance.

“I’m sure.” He leaned against Soren, trapping the smaller man against the counter as he kissed his neck. “Because the dragon learned that it’s OK to trust people sometimes.”

“Mm. It’s true.” Soren ran his fingers through Ike’s hair, gently. “But only people who come bearing sandwiches.”


	10. A Warrior's Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priam learns a little about wind spirits, and decides that they can do something for a swordsman, after all.
> 
> Priam's age: About 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess when I'm sick, writing is my coping mechanism. Another day, another poorly-written entry to my demented little head-canon. This expands on Priam's C support with male Robin in Awakening. If you've never seen it, I recommend that you do; it's hilarious.

_A whirl of green light whips itself into a frenzy of motion, of rushing sound. Priam watches, fascinated, as it shrinks and widens, following the sage’s muttered commands. He can feel the spirits rallying around his mother’s call, and he grows ever more excited as their power increases. The vortex becomes a ball of light held tightly in an outstretched palm, and then it’s suddenly released. Priam holds onto the seat of the bench as every leaf in the yard is picked up and tossed into the air. The child laughs, delighted by the spectacle. It’s something that he looks forward to every year when the leaves fall. They flutter in a tornado of rushing wind, blast their way through the treetops surrounding the yard, and are swept away out of sight by the autumn breeze that meets the spell._

_Soren turns back and smiles at him, that same little smile that most people would miss. But Priam sees it, and he returns it with a wide grin of his own, swinging his feet over stiff blades of grass. “I wish I could do that,” he says, leaning forward slightly, fingers still gripping the bench._

_“If you studied, then perhaps you could,” Soren says, coming to sit beside the boy. Priam scrambles into his lap, not caring if he’s getting a little too big to do so. He leans against Soren, his head tucked under his mother’s chin, playing with the tassels on the front of his purple robe._

_Soren runs his fingers through wild dark-blue locks. “Tell me, Priam. Can you hear the spirits?”_

_“I dunno.” Priam snuggles closer. “How can I tell?”_

_“Do you ever hear voices that you can’t explain?”_

_“Mmm, no.”_

_“Hmm. It’s strange. They’re always whispering to you.”_

_Priam looks around, suddenly wary. “They are?”_

_“Yes. They… They like you.” Soren closes his eyes, switches his mindset to tune into the wind spirits whirling around them. “Do you remember that time you climbed up to the watchtower?”_

_“Yeah…” Priam looks down at his lap. “But I was only little! I didn’t know any better!”_

_“Oh, you knew better,” Soren snorts. “You just didn’t care to listen to us. Do you remember what happened?”_

_“I… I climbed up on the railing…” Priam’s face flushes with shame._

_“And then?”_

_“And then, a big gust of wind blew me back.”_

_“That’s right.” Soren’s arms tighten around the boy, just a little. “They saved you that day. I could hear them warning you.”_

_Priam’s eyes go wide. “Really?”_

_“Yes, really.” The sage takes a long, slow, deep breath. “They’re always around, whether you can hear them or not. Maybe you’ll be able to attune yourself to them.”_

_“How?”_

_“Try to listen,” Soren says. “Listen and feel.”_

_Priam nods. “OK!” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I think… I can smell them!”_

_“Heh… They have no smell, Priam.”_

_“Oh.” The boy’s face falls, but soon his excitement is back. He hops off of Soren’s lap and runs around the yard, his arms outstretched. “Spirits, listen to me! I am Priam, son of Ike, and I command you to do my bidding!”_

_“Good luck with that,” Soren calls, shaking his head. “It’s not likely to work, you know.”_

_Priam takes a few more pronounced breaths. “Hey, if they’re wind spirits, I can breathe them in! They’ll make me powerful, right, Mom?”_

_Soren smiles again, just slightly. “Sure. Why not?”_

_The child grins, spreads out his arms, and continues to breathe, feeling the power of the wind strengthen his body._

>>><<<

“God, that guy will not shut up about breathing…” Robin sighed as he dropped to his cot.

“Well, I suppose that breathing is important,” Chrom said, looking up from his book. “You’re talking about Priam, right?”

“That’s right. I suppose he gave you the lecture, too?”

“That he did. And I find myself surprised – he was quite, er, vocal. Perhaps more vocal than I would have ever guessed.”

“I thought him to be rather quiet but get him started on something…” Robin flopped backwards and spread out on the canvas bed. He jumped up again, though, when the sound of heavy boots thumped closer and closer. The tent flap was opened, and Priam peered inside.

“There you are!” he said, catching sight of Robin. “And Chrom, too. Robin, you ran off before I could finish my story!”

“Er, um, well…” Robin stood up, fidgeting with his robes.

“It’s alright, I guess you were overwhelmed by the tale,” Priam said, stepping into the tent. “Now, where were we… Ah, yes! I was facing down the bear, alone and defenseless. It was then that I took a deep breath and took the spirits of the winds themselves into my very being.”

Robin sighed and sat back down, ignoring Chrom’s amused glance. It seemed that he wasn’t going to escape this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It just... totally makes sense that Priam would be obsessed with breathing. Yup. Totally.
> 
> Oh, and I referenced the hand pose for Soren. I cannot do hands, guys.


	11. POSSIBLE SQUICK WARNING - A Clandestine Feeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> POSSIBLE SQUICK WARNING
> 
> Soren tries to hide it, but as usual, Ike is there to reassure him that there's no reason to feel ashamed.
> 
> Priam's age: About two weeks old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SQUICK WARNING
> 
> This chapter involves Soren feeding Priam - and I don't mean with a bottle. Tag this chapter lactation, male lactation, breastfeeding, what have you... It's probably gonna gross some people out. Seriously, if this is not your thing, if this makes you uncomfortable, do not read this chapter. 
> 
> I felt a little off about posting it, even though I kinda like it. But as my bestie pointed out, "It's MPREG, so you kinda expect to see something like this."

It was dark and quiet in the little house in the woods. Winter’s chill was slowly ebbing away under the threat of an early spring, but nights were cold enough that Soren kept the fire roaring. With the oil lamps extinguished, the ring of illumination around the hearth was a reddish-golden glow that set the shadows to dancing.

The rocking chair made little noise as it creaked back and forth, back and forth. Soren felt himself lulled by its rhythm. He only had to push lightly against the floor, but kept his foot firmly planted so he could control the motions. He still had some difficulty with getting around, but with the little bundle in his arms and the crackling of the fire and the stillness of the night, he was content right where he was.

He wasn’t even particularly sleepy, though it had been difficult to get up at the appointed time. Now that he was settled with Priam suckling happily, Soren was quite alert. He watched the firelight glowing on that chubby little cheek, watched the shadows playing in a wild head of dark hair. The infant’s eyes were lidded, his expression dreamy as he took nourishment. Soren smiled, and brushed the boy’s cheek with his finger.

The shift on the bed behind them caused Soren to tense. He prayed that Ike was just getting comfortable, but that wasn’t the case. The straw-stuffed mattress crackled, and a thump announced Ike’s feet hitting the floor. “Everything OK?” Ike’s voice was low, but even this mere whisper was jarring enough to disrupt his serenity.

“Yes, Ike,” Soren answered quietly. As if sensing the change in his mother’s demeanor, Priam disengaged and began to whine, shifting around, searching for what he had lost. Soren helped him to latch on again and winced at the strange sensation. Unconsciously, his arms tightened around the child, as if to conceal him from view.

Ike walked over to stand behind the chair. Soren breathed slowly, evenly, fighting the urge to cover himself and the baby with the blanket across his lap.

“Relax.” Ike’s hand, large and warm, covered his shoulder. Soren did relax, if only a little. His rocking became fluid once more, his shoulders loose. Still, the minor tremor in his core remained. The scar on his abdomen throbbed.

“Was there something you needed?” he asked at last, when the tension became too much for him.

“Just watching. You never let me see you feed him.” There was a question in Ike’s tone. Soren stared into the fire, allowed himself to become mesmerized.

“It’s strange,” he murmured.

“No, it’s not.” Ike knelt beside the chair, his hand sliding down to Soren’s upper arm. “You’re feeding our child. What’s strange about that?”

“It’s…” Soren’s face was heating up. Priam began to fuss once more. “It’s just… weird. Isn’t it?” Shyly, he glanced at Ike. The vanguard was looking at the fussing baby, his expression gentler than Soren had ever seen it. He reached over and carefully held the back of Priam’s head, helping him to find his way once more.

“I think it’s nice.”

“N- nice?”

“When I see you like this, I…” Now Ike looked away, searching for the right words in the flickering flames. “I feel happy. Like this is peace. It’s like seeing you and Priam together is all I need in the world. As long as you’re both safe, I can breathe easily.”

“Ike…”

“It’s not strange, to me. I think it’s beautiful, to see you like this.” Intense blue eyes once again met Soren’s, and the sage felt himself falling all over again – falling just like he always did.

“… I shouldn’t be so shy about it, around you. Should I?”

“It’s your choice. But… I wish you would let me see, sometimes.” Ike leaned closer and rested his forehead against Soren’s. “We’re in this together. You shouldn’t feel the need to hide from me. Don’t you trust me?”

“I’m sorry…” Soren nuzzled against Ike, and only pulled away to help Priam adjust again. “I trust you. I really do. I just… still feel a little strange about it all.”

“I understand.” Ike kissed his brand and then stood up, crossing over to the chair opposite the rocker. “Do you mind if I watch now?”

“Not much to watch,” Soren scoffed. “But, if you must…”

Soren tried not to look at Ike, but he couldn’t help glancing at him now and then. Whether or not he was expecting to find disgust in those eyes, it never did appear. He felt himself easing back into the peaceful mood from before, felt the little bubble closing in on them – and this time, Ike was part of it. There was an expression of such tenderness on Ike’s face, of such love, that Soren felt he could burst into tears at the sight of it. And when Ike looked up from their child, Soren knew that his own expression mirrored Ike’s.

Priam was a warm little bundle of limp weight as he began to taper off. Soren pushed his finger against the child’s cheek, shifted, and moved him to the other side before he could start crying. Now close to Soren’s beating heart, Priam seemed to melt with contentment, and Soren was unable to look away from that blissful expression.

“Does it hurt?” Ike’s voice was hardly a whisper now. The crackling of the fire was actually louder.

“Only sometimes,” Soren replied. “If it hurts, then I just move him a little. The doctor showed me how to do it.”

“Ah.” Ike frowned. “Are you sure you can make enough? You don’t have full br—” He cut himself off at Soren’s sharp glance. “I mean, since you’re not a woman… And your… chest… isn’t bigger…”

“You didn’t notice that they’re a little swollen?” Soren sighed.

“No, I hadn’t.” Ike leaned closer, curious, but Soren held his robe shut on the other side.

“In any case, the doctor said that hormones prepared my body to produce it. Priam’s doing the rest. I’ll continue to make more as he grows.”

“Let’s just hope he didn’t get my appetite.”

“Size has nothing to do with supply,” Soren said defensively.

“Sorry,” Ike said with a chuckle. They settled again into the peace of the routine.

It was rare for Ike to smile very much, but Soren could tell how happy he was just by the way his eyes glittered in the firelight. It made the sage shy to look but it also eased his fears somewhat. That curiosity was still there, though, and Soren didn’t find it surprising at all when Ike spoke up again. “Does it come out easily?”

“Easily enough,” Soren said. “Sometimes, I have to—” He cut himself off and snapped his lips shut. Ike tilted his head slightly, like a confused pup.

“You have to what?”

“It’s nothing.”

“I want to know.”

“I… Sometimes, I have to apply pressure, before anything happens.” Soren looked away again into the fireplace.

“Oh, I get it.” Another pause. “So, if you ever need any help getting it started… could I do it?”

“Ike…” A warning. Ike leaned back in his chair, rubbed his face.

“Sorry, that was probably in bad taste.”

“Bad taste, indeed.”

Ike blinked, frowned, and then broke into low laughter. “Did you just make a joke about…?”

“What if I did?” Soren hid his growing smile behind a curtain of long hair. “I’m actually surprised that you got that one.”

“Me, too. But I guess I walked into it.”

It was just like every other time, Soren thought. Only Ike could put him so at ease with something as foreign as this. In retrospect, trying to hide it was just ludicrous. He could feel that familiar warmth creeping over him, making him relaxed. Priam seemed to catch on, too; he cooed happily and nuzzled closer, and Soren stroked his cheek and tried not to hug him too tightly.

The flickering of the fire, the creak of the rocker, the persistent sound of Priam seeking sustenance. The slight twinge now and then, and the warm weight in his arms, and Ike’s eyes glued to the two of them as if he’d never seen such a thing in all his life, as if he were somehow reliving the lost moments with his own mother. Something primal, something powerful, flashing in those eyes, and Soren felt safe. He felt the strength in his own body, this body that had fought so hard to protect Ike, that would now fight to protect their child, and he felt it growing even as Priam took of him and gained his own strength.

Soren froze himself in this moment and didn’t heed the oncoming dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... OK, bring on the torches and pitchforks.


	12. Early spring, year 1681 (or, Hell on Wheels)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excerpts from Soren's journal from the early spring of Priam's second year of life.
> 
> Priam's age: 1 year old

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to thank owohoseok for this idea. They commented that Priam must be a real handful when he started to crawl, and my mind went places. 
> 
> Oh, and I have to explain - Baris, being a new continent that I made up (or rather, pulled out of my ass), has its own calendar and language and monetary system. That system is the brin, or br.

_4 th day of spring, year 1681 (Barisian calendar)_

_Priam took his first steps today. He managed to put one foot in front of the other, and in so doing, sealed our fate. He is every bit as determined as his father. At just over a year and three weeks old, he has reached this milestone with the kind of ease and sense of purpose that one might expect from the son of the greatest man who ever lived._

_Watching him is fascinating. Perhaps I’m biased, as his parent; I like to think that most would be quite impressed with him. I was beginning to worry, because he showed such little interest in crawling. Now I know that he was simply saving his energy for the time when he would be able to walk. Was it merely two weeks ago that he pulled himself up for the first time? He’s advancing so quickly that I have to look back through this journal to remind myself of his progress. I can scarcely believe it._

_In a way, it’s a little painful. He’s growing and becoming more independent. One day, he won’t need me—_

_Bah, I’m getting sentimental._

_I’m sad to say that I missed his first faltering steps. I was absorbed with the household budget. When he rested against my leg, I almost jumped out of my chair. But there he was, standing and looking so proud of himself. I admit that I was quite proud, as well. He hadn’t pulled himself up on me, so I deduced that he had crossed the distance between us on his own. To test this theory, I stood and walked a few paces back. He followed. It’s official – he is mobile._

_May the goddess have mercy on us…_

_When Ike came back from town, I brought Priam into the yard to greet him. I have never seen him look so proud as he did when our son stepped carefully over the paving stones to reach him. He caught Priam up in his arms and tossed him into the air, and that smile on his face, his laughter… There is nothing so wonderful in the world as Ike’s genuine laughter, save for Priam’s. My heart is full to bursting._

_I’m glad that I can write in the ancient tongue… I can’t imagine what one might think of me if they were to read this sentimental nonsense._

_7 th day of spring, year 1681 (Barisian calendar)_

_Priam has decided that walking is an inferior form of locomotion. He was at it for all of two days before he figured out how to run. He is still clumsy, but he’s figured out how to toddle along with a bouncing gait that gets him from point A to point B faster than I could have anticipated._

_I know now that the goddess Yune has taken up residence here in Baris. How else might one explain a one-year-old who is already running about the house like a tiny madman? Or perhaps it is her blessing manifest in Ike’s seed. In either case, the Goddess of Chaos is among us._

_As I write this, Priam is toddling around the table in wide circles, chasing after who-knows-what. He is like a cat laguz chasing its own tail, if a cat laguz fell onto its rear every few feet. That doesn’t stop him from getting up and continuing his pursuit, though. He has a single-minded determination that is all too familiar. Whatever he is doing, he does it with absolute focus. Now and then, he stops and smiles at me. I think he’s quite pleased with his new mobility. I return the smile, and he goes on his way. I swear that he’s getting faster by the minute. He hardly wanted to slow down even to eat breakfast this morning. At this rate, I’ll be feeding him lunch bite by bite as he runs past…_

_I think I’m happy about this. It’s still a sad thing to watch your child grow, because every step he takes is a step away from us. Soon, he won’t be a baby anymore. How long will it be before we’re building a small bed for him, separate from ours? But still, I am pleased. If all goes well, he will be a fine man who can certainly take care of himself by the time he’s fully grown. Anyone can see that he will have his father’s stren—_

_That didn’t take long. The first casualty of Priam’s newfound independence: Ike’s favorite mug. I hadn’t realized that it was sitting on the dish towel. I’ll have to be careful about leaving things like that dangling over the counter edge._

_Note: Need more ceramic glue from town. Don’t mention to Ike._

_8 th day of spring, year 1681 (Barisian calendar)_

_The casualty report as of today:_

  * _One mug, ceramic, approx. 2.5 br._
  * _One pitcher, ceramic, 14 br._
  * _Four books, assorted subjects, totaling approx. 138 br._
  * _One jar peach jam, 3 br._
  * _Add cost of one pot ceramic-compatible glue, 4.5 br._



_Total: -162 (approx.)_

_It really is quite amazing. In two days, Priam has managed to ruin a small fortune in goods. If I had any idea that he could do this much damage when my back was turned, I would have moved things around sooner… or simply kept him in the sling on my back every time I have to use the latrine. One of the villagers once made a joke to me about keeping his children on leashes, like one might a dog… It’s not such a bad idea._

_The folly is mine. I should have foreseen this. He is highly curious and determined to get into everything he can reach. Now that he can reach a bit higher, his domain has expanded. I’m going to begin moving things and adjusting the shelf height tomorrow. Right now, he is asleep next to Ike, and our books and ceramics can rest easy._

_A chilling thought occurs… This is only going to get worse._

_Note: Ask locksmith to fashion latches for all drawers in the house. Will tally up the total tomorrow._

_… Will revisit leash idea at a later date._

__


	13. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you think they’d be upset? Because I’m Branded?” 
> 
> “You know, I don’t think they would be. Maybe it would surprise them, but they’re good people. They’d understand. And I think they would accept it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished this one, and now I'm posting it, too. Man, I am chatty when I'm sick!

He could hear them coming long before he saw anyone – there was a tromping through the woods, the crackling of leaves and twigs that lay heavy over the narrow path. Ike stopped immediately, the garden hoe suspended in midair. He dropped it, reached for Ragnell, and spun on his heel to face the gate to the yard.

Whoever they were, there were a lot of them – and they weren’t taking any precautions to be quiet. Ike glanced at the house, through the little front window. He could see Soren inside, bent over to put Priam down for a nap in his cradle. Ike’s grip tightened on the sword hilt. He glared through the woods. “Soren, on guard!” he shouted. Soren heard him through the open window. His answer was lost in a burst of shouts that came from the woods.

He nearly dropped his sword when he saw who it was.

“Ike!” That voice, ecstatic and clear as a bell. Her face was practically unchanged from when he’d last seen it.

“M- Mist?!”

Ike sheathed Ragnell as they all came into view – Mist, Titania, Oscar, Boyd, Rolf, and Rhys. And leading up the rear, a large blue cat prowling along behind the group, grinning in his feline way.

“What… What are you all doing here?”

They were obviously travel-worn, filthy and ragged, but they were all beaming at him. Mist nearly tore the gate off of its hinges to reach him, and she wrapped him in a tight hug. The door to the house opened behind him, and Ike could hear Soren’s gasp of disbelief.

“Ike, you son of a bitch!” Ranulf transformed and caught him up in a bear hug as Mist was still embracing him.

“Did you really think that we wouldn’t try to find you someday?” Titania chided as she strode into the yard, leading the others. “I’m surprised, Ike.”

“Yeah, we had to make sure that you’re alright,” Mist said, her eyes already filling with tears. “Oh, Ike… It’s so good to see you again!”

He hugged her close, trembling all over from shock and joy. Never had he imagined that they would try to find them here. It was a difficult enough task to cross Hatari, but to sail across the ocean to unknown lands, as well…

“Aw, come here, you!” Boyd clapped a hand around his shoulders briefly, and then pulled back to rest his hand on Mist’s back. “Dammit, you could at least have written!”

“Sorry,” he said, barely able to think. They just couldn’t be here, could they?

“Soren, it’s good to see you, too,” Titania said, and Soren came up behind Ike to clutch at his arm.

“I’m… Yes, it’s good to see you,” Soren said. He appeared to be as dumbstruck as Ike was. “I would invite you inside, but I’m afraid there isn’t enough room…”

“We’ll be just fine out here,” Mist said cheerfully. “We rented a bunch of rooms at the inn, so we can have a nice little gathering outside! This is a really nice place.”

From inside came a shrill cry, and Soren stiffened. “Uh, hold on a minute,” Ike said to the visitors, ignoring their confused faces and going inside. Priam was wiggling around, upset at being left alone. Ike picked him up, and the baby stopped crying at once. Feeling a tingling sort of excitement, Ike carried Priam outside.

Soren looked down at the ground when Mist said, “Is that a baby?”

“Yeah,” Ike said, beaming. “This is our—”

“Ike…” Soren glanced up at him, fear showing through his stern mask.

“Soren, it’s OK.” Ike faced the group once more. “This is our son, Priam.”

Since finding out that Soren was pregnant, Ike had often imagined what the other mercenaries would say to the news. There was a little nagging doubt deep inside that said they would be rather shocked and disgusted. But he believed in them. Even if Soren was terrified of their reaction, even though the sage stepped close to Ike as if to shield their baby from them, Ike believed in them.

And he was not disappointed.

“Oh, really?!” Mist squealed. “Oh, I’m so- I’m so happy! Boyd, we have a nephew!”

“Wow…” Boyd whistled. “So, you really do have a kid? Huh… Congrats, Ike!”

“You certainly got busy, didn’t you?” Titania laughed.

“The commander’s baby…” Rolf said in awe.

“I can see that he’s a fine boy,” Oscar said. “I’m happy for you both!”

“May the goddess bless you,” Rhys said.

Ranulf leaned forward to sniff at the infant. “Smells just like you! I bet he’s gonna be quite the lady-killer when he grows up!”

None of them questioned it. None of them wondered how it came to be. Ike grinned as his family welcomed his child into their fold, as Mist reached out and asked to hold him, as Boyd tried to tickle Priam’s chin and received a kick for his troubles. “He looks like you did when you were small,” Titania commented.

“Is that the same mark that Soren has?” Mist asked. Soren tensed beside Ike, until she said, “It looks beautiful on him! I bet he’ll be a powerful mage, just like Soren, huh?”

“Ike.”

They all fell silent. Ike’s breath caught in his throat. As the others parted to clear a path, Greil stepped forward, looking just as he did on the day he died.

Ike felt as if his heart would stop.

“It's about time you told us, boy.” His father’s expression was gentle, even though his voice was gruff as always. Ike took a step forward, and Greil smiled at him.

“Father?”

"Dad?"

Ike sat up with a sharp intake of breath. Priam managed to pull back just before getting headbutted. “Woah, Dad, watch out!”

“Priam?” Ike was breathing hard, looking around with wild eyes. He was back in their little house, and it was warm in the room. The windows were open to allow a breeze in. His eight-year-old son was standing next to the bed, frowning that stoic frown that increasingly served as his default expression as he grew older.

“Mom told me to wake you if you slept too long.”

Of course. It was afternoon now. Ike would have to start dinner soon, before Soren got back from town. He sank back against the pillows, a hand over his face. Priam didn’t move from the bedside.

“Were you having a bad dream?”

Ike hesitated. “Not really.” He rolled onto his side, stood up with a groan. Now that he was firmly back in the waking world, he knew that it had been a dream. He hadn’t seen a trace of Mist or the mercenaries since leaving Tellius. As for his father…

There was a stinging at the edges of his eyes. He ignored it and went to stock the stove with wood. Priam followed him.

“Dad, were you dreaming about the wars?”

Ike glanced at his son. He seemed deadly serious, staring up at him with unflinching gray eyes that gleamed with curiosity. “No,” Ike said, bending to light the fire. “I dreamed about my family.”

Priam seemed surprised. “About the mercenaries?”

“Yeah.”

The boy was silent as his father tended to the stove. At length, he said, “Do you ever write to them?”

“We did, once. When we settled here,” Ike answered.

“Did you ever hear back?”

“Yeah. We get a letter from your aunt Mist every year.”

“Only every year?” Priam cocked his head.

“It’s expensive to send letters between here and Tellius. Sometimes impossible.” Ike poked at the growing flame and shut the grate. The stove would have to heat up before he put the pan on top of it. He leaned back to wait; Soren had already prepared the meat to go in the pot. It was sitting on the counter, covered in salt and herbs and the fading crystals of an ice spell. “Foolproof,” Soren had said as he’d left that morning.

Priam was still staring at him. “Why don’t you ever talk about them?” he asked.

“I—” Ike couldn’t really answer that. He hadn’t thought about it. When they had put down roots here, when Priam had come into the world, their focus had shifted to raising him. Soren had been adamant that they never reveal his existence to anyone in Tellius, and Ike had agreed, if only to put Soren’s mind at ease. But when he looked at the Brand on his son’s forehead, he remembered the cruelty it had earned Soren. He had known then that he would do anything to protect Priam from that same cruelty.

There were a lot of layers, here – he had gone off to lands unknown, with little more than a farewell; he had produced a child; said child was born from a union between two men, and one of those men was half laguz, to boot. As every year passed, it seemed more and more vital to keep those secrets. “We had a son five years ago, and didn’t tell you,” sounded worse than, “We had a son four years ago…” and so on.

Before he could form a real answer, Priam asked, “Did you ever tell them about me?”

Ike hesitated, but there was no use in lying. “No,” he said.

The boy didn’t ask why. He simply nodded, his frown deepening. “Do you think they’d be upset? Because I’m Branded?”

It was a touchy subject, and Ike hadn’t been prepared for it to come up. He crossed his arms, not daring to look away from Priam’s steady gaze. It struck Ike how little his son knew about the family he had never met. In all these years, his instinct had been to protect his husband and child. They were both Branded, and that was a secret that was not his to divulge. Priam’s very existence was something that would offend most people in Tellius. But his family, his mercenaries…

He felt like something was cracking inside him. It was time to break the silence.

_It's about time you told us, boy._

Ike went to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat in it backwards with his arms folded over the back. “You know, I don’t think they would be,” he said. “Maybe it would surprise them, but they’re good people. They’d understand. And I think they would accept it.”

“Really?” Priam’s eyes lit up just a bit. Ike’s mouth quirked into a half-smile.

“Yeah. My father never cared about the blood in someone’s veins, only about their character. He accepted things that most people thought were crazy. He was… he was a good man. And Mist, my sister, is the same way.”

Priam sat opposite Ike, folded his arms on the table, and leaned his head on them. “Do you think she would be OK with me being Branded?”

“I know she would be.” Ike leaned back again, regarding his son. “Titania… I told you about her before, right? She would have adored you. I think Titania would have spoiled you more than your aunt would. She liked to spoil us when we were kids.”

“Yeah?” Priam grinned.

It was rare to hear from Mist, though the letters came even without a reply on their end. Soren had been too afraid to write to her after Priam had been born, and Ike had been too protective to push the issue. But seeing those smiling faces in his dream, remembering the warmhearted people he had left behind, had him reconsidering.

Perhaps he would talk to Soren tonight. Perhaps they would sit down and write a letter together.

His eyes still stinging oddly, Ike glanced out the window. It was getting late, but the roast could wait a bit.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Boyd and I…”


	14. Fun With Phonics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priam learns some new words.
> 
> Priam's age: 2 years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiki9627, thank you for the suggestion here! :D I hope I did your idea justice. T_T Keep that Stupid Stick handy in case I botched it. lol
> 
> Oh, and the language here is made up. If a few words actually do mean something in another language, I'm sorry! I have no idea.

The language barrier was one that Soren had easily crossed when they had settled in Baris. As Priam grew and learned to speak, Soren began to teach him Tellian and Barisian, switching frequently between the two in everyday conversation.

Ike, on the other hand, was having some trouble picking it up.

He could get along alright in basic conversations. He understood words, and he knew how to say them, but he was very poor conversationally. It was the flow of them, the structure of the grammar, that confused him. Compounding this was that the written language eluded him, and he was never one to sit down and study. He had only a basic working knowledge of reading Tellian; his interest in reading Barisian was limited to shop signs and maps.

Soren didn’t mind. In fact, he liked that he could get away with certain things. Though Ike had never been a stickler for proper language, Soren’s vocabulary was quite a bit more colorful. Certain phrases always earned him a look from Ike, and sometimes a reprimand. And though his view on laguz had softened after the first war, certainly during the second war, “filthy ball-licking furball” was still a favored curse when he was truly angry. Something like that would earn Ike’s ire. But Ike didn’t know what a “morda ganto toscontroda” was, so Soren was in the clear on that.

“Filo mordano…” Soren muttered under his breath one day, as he was wrestling with a particularly stubborn weed in the garden patch.

“What?” Ike called from his little corner of the garden, hunched over and tugging weeds out by the roots with ease.

“Nothing…” Soren sighed, wiping his brow.

“Hey, are you gonna go into town with me later?” Ike asked after another moment of silent work.

“I have too much to do around here,” Soren said.

“I’ll take Priam along.”

“You will?” Sitting back, wiping his hands on his robes, Soren felt his interest piqued.

Ike gave him a knowing look. “I figured you could use some time to yourself.”

“Thank you.” He returned to work with a smile on his face. He wasn’t going to laze around and relax while they were gone, and Ike knew that; but it was nice to have the place to himself once in a while. He hadn’t had much time since Priam had been born. Not that he didn’t love Ike and Priam, but sometimes, he craved solitude so badly that his bones ached.

Ike soon went inside, and Soren finished up in the garden, no longer frustrated with the weeds.

“Hey, you awake?” Ike nudged the little boy, who was already beginning to stir from his nap.

“Mmm…” The child rubbed his eyes and rolled over.

“Do you wanna go into town with me?”

“Town?” Priam sat up, blinking sleep from his eyes, suddenly alert as could be.

“Let’s get you ready,” Ike said, and Priam grinned, rolling off of the bed and running towards the door. This was anticipated. Ike scooped the boy into his arms and carried him to the table, where he proceeded to help him put his boots on.

“Wanna go!” Priam said, kicking his legs and making Ike’s job exponentially harder.

“OK, hold on, Priam,” Ike said, focusing on holding one leg still so he could wrestle the squirming foot into its leather confines. The task always took longer than he’d expected. When it was done, Ike wasted no time in sitting Priam on his shoulders and walking out the door, Ragnell already strapped to his back.

“We’re going now,” he called to Soren, who gave an acknowledging wave.

“Bye bye!” Priam called, waving back. He was practically vibrating in place, gripping the back of Ike’s headband and yanking now and then as if he were astride a horse. “Daddy, faster!” he giggled. Smirking, Ike waited until they were past the gate, and then took off at a run down the forest path, Priam shrieking with joy.

It wasn’t very far to the village. The old watchtower was located in a small wood, and it was a short path to the fields that surrounded the village of Kemo. Priam loved to gawk at the scenery, and Ike had to admit that it was nice. It was getting on into summer now, and the sheep were freshly shorn. The lambs were growing, frolicking playfully in their green pastures, running among the adults who grazed serenely. The sight reminded Ike of Priam, of their little family. He bounced the toddler a little as he crested the hilltop, earning that laugh that made Ike’s heart soar.

They raced across the fields, past the fences that delineated the farmers’ properties, past the scattered oak trees that dotted the landscape here and there. <Hey, Ike!> one of the ranch hands called as they passed him by. Ike waved in return, as Priam shouted, “Hi!”

“We’re going into town now,” Ike said, remembering Soren’s rule. “We speak Barisian here, OK?”

“Bar-bar…” Priam mumbled. At two years of age, he was still learning to string words together.

“That’s ri—” Ike stopped himself. <Right,> he said in Barisian.

<Daddy!> Priam said, hugging Ike’s head, and Ike nodded in satisfaction. He was a clever kid. He always followed his parents’ cues when it came to switching languages, even if he hadn’t fully mastered them yet.

They reached the town square, which was fairly deserted at this time of day. Ike liked to come into town when most of the other shoppers were taking their mid-day siestas. It was just about past lunch time, and the blacksmith was hard at work in the forge. Ike stepped over the sizzling brick plaza to the shade of the counter that looked into the smithy shop.

<Hoy!> he called.

<Half a minute!> The answer came from somewhere within the shop. After being in the bright sunlight, the shadowed forge was like looking through a veil of darkness. Ike squinted until the figure of a tall, dark man came into view just behind the counter. <Oh, Ike. What can I do for you?>

<I need three…> Ike frowned, searching for the right word. <Uh, metal… For the doors?>

<Hinges?>

<Right,> Ike nodded. <Thanks.>

The smith retreated into the gloom. Ike set Priam onto the counter to give his shoulders a break, and the boy swung his legs back and forth, looking to the side at the bins of nails, screws, tacks, and other hardware. <Daddy, that?> He pointed to one of the bins.

<Uh… What is it… Oh! That is shoes for the horse.>

<That?>

<Nail.>

<That?>

It went on like this until the smith returned with three large hinges. He smiled indulgently and ruffled Priam’s hair as Ike dug in his pocket for his money pouch. <He’s getting bigger by the day,> the smith said.

<Yes,> Ike agreed, counting out coins.

<So, do you know any words in our language yet?> he asked Priam.

<Lots!> Priam said. “Mordano!”

The smith burst into laughter. Ike looked up, frowning. <What?>

<Spirited kid,> the smith said.

<Uh, thank you.> Ike paid, received the hinges in a paper bag, and took Priam onto his shoulders again. The smith was still chuckling to himself. <What did you say there?> Ike asked.

“Mordano,” Priam said proudly.

<What is that mean?>

Priam shrugged. Ike figured it was one of those words that didn’t have a direct translation. Or, perhaps Priam had picked it up somewhere without learning its meaning. He crossed the plaza, passing by the central fountain, and went to the temple. There was a woman with long blue hair tending the flower beds outside. She smiled as they approached. <Hello, Ike! Priam!> she called.

<Sume,> Ike greeted. <I’m pick up, uh, the book? For Soren.>

<I’m here to pick up the book for Soren,> she corrected, and Ike thanked her as she beckoned him inside.

The temple was used mainly on holidays, and as such, it was almost always empty. Inside was cool and dark, lit by colorful patterns coming through stained glass windows all along the sanctuary. Sume disappeared into a side door, and Ike let Priam down to run around the aisle. The boy had been kicking his chest, and Ike was glad for some respite. He rubbed at the sore spots, wincing, as Priam whooped and stopped to listen to the echo.

<Priam, no,> Ike said, not knowing how to ask him to stop shouting.

The toddler went to one of the long benches and picked up a book on the end. <Book,> he said proudly. He fumbled with it, trying to open it, but it proved to be too heavy for his clumsy fingers. It fell to the floor with a loud thump. “Filo!” he said.

There was a gasp, echoing around the high ceiling. Sume had returned, and she clutched the book to her large bosom, gaping at Priam. <Oh, child, you shouldn’t say things like that!> she admonished.

<What he said?> Ike asked, frowning.

Sume didn’t correct his grammar. She just shook her head, unable to repeat the word, and shoved the book at Ike. <Give Soren my regards. Blessings on you all!> She seemed in a rush to usher them out. Ike pulled Priam into his arms again, this time carrying him in the crook of his elbow as he walked back out into the plaza. The doors shut behind them with a loud bang.

Ike looked at Priam, who was preoccupied gazing around the plaza. “Alright, what did you say back there?” he asked in Tellian.

<Where?> Priam asked, utterly confused. Ike shook his head and kept going.

They were nearly out of the square when a cat ran across the road in front of them. Priam pointed excitedly. “Ganto toscrontoda!” he shouted.

<Such language!> an elderly woman was walking along, laden with a bag of flour. She glared at Ike disapprovingly.

<My apology,> Ike said helplessly.

When they got home, he was completely puzzled. He set Priam down on the floor of their little house, and Soren looked up from where he was kneading a lump of dough. “That was fast,” he said.

“Not many shoppers out at this hour,” Ike said, his frown still in place. “Hey, I have to ask… Priam said some things today, and a few people seemed to, uh… Well, Priam, tell Mom what you told that cat earlier.”

Soren’s face paled when Priam said, “Ganto toscrontoda?”

“Do you know what that means?” Ike asked. “He said some other things, too, but I can’t remember them.”

“It’s…” Soren cleared his throat and turned back to the dough. “It’s nothing. Just gibberish.”

Ike wasn’t always the most astute person. He was, all in all, quite gullible. But he knew Soren, in some ways better than the sage knew himself. His eyes narrowed. “What is it, really?” he asked.

Soren’s ears turned pink. He said nothing.

“Soren…”

“Oh, fine!” Soren plopped the ball of dough onto the counter, sending puffs of flour everywhere. “I didn’t think he would repeat _that_!”

“Repeat what?”

“I- I just forget sometimes to watch my language around him. That’s all.”

“Oh, they’re curse words?” Ike looked down at Priam, who was currently trying to climb his cape. “I guess that makes sense. Kids start to pick things up easily at this age, huh?”

“Mmm.” Soren refused to look at Ike. “I’ll talk with him. It won’t happen again.”

“OK.”

Soren sighed, feeling like an utter failure – and like his secret was now compromised. He leveled a bemused gaze at his son as Priam hopped off of Ike’s cape and crawled under a chair.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Ike asked.

“I…” Soren swallowed a lump in his throat. “I feel terrible that he picked that up from me. I should have shown more restraint. I’m… I’m sorry, Ike.” He had never, ever wanted Ike to be disappointed in him. 

“It’s OK.” Ike stepped forward to wrap an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders. “You always did have a mouth on you… Maybe this will help break that habit.”

“Mm.”

Priam went to stand, and in so doing, bumped his head on the chair. “Fuck!” he said.

Soren’s eyes snapped up to Ike. “Where did he hear _that_?”

Ike was already making his exit.


	15. What If

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To have, or not to have? That is the question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooohooooo, more illness-induced mania!

Soren’s day begins with a bang.

“Ow! Hey, quit that!”

“You quit it, that’s mine!”

“No, it’s mine, dog-breath!”

“Sorry, guys, it’s mine.”

“HEY!”

“No fair!”

“MOOOOOM!”

The sage rises like the sun on this cloudy day – irritable, barely awake, and wishing he could just hide. But he can’t hide. He has a duty.

“Eric! Selene!” His voice causes a halt to the ruckus. Two heads – both covered in shaggy blue hair – swivel towards him. Priam looks up, too, still holding the wooden sword out of reach of his younger siblings. Soren sighs. “Tell me, why are you trying to wake the dead?”

“He took my sword!” Eric whines.

“HE took MY sword!” Selene shouts, pointing to her twin.

“Actually, it’s mine,” Priam says calmly.

Getting out of bed is difficult nowadays. He braces himself, sits up, swivels, and stands carefully. His rotund belly impedes his progress, but after four pregnancies, he’s gotten used to it. And this one isn’t nearly as hard to manage as the twins were.

“Give it to me,” Soren says, extending his hand. Dutifully, reluctantly, Priam hands it over. Soren examines the worn little training sword before giving it back to Priam. “Keep it out of their reach from now on.”

The twins’ protests are immediate and loud. Soren pinches the bridge of his nose. “You two aren’t old enough for something like that,” he says sharply. “Where are your toy swords? You each have your own, don’t you?”

They look guilty, and Soren knows with a sinking certainty that he probably shouldn’t have asked. He walks towards the kitchen area, and the twins spring up to hug him, one on each leg.

“Love you, Mom,” Eric says.

“Yeah, love you,” Selene says.

Soren groans, and peers into the kitchen. It’s obvious why they’re trying to impede his progress. There’s a small pile of charred bits of wood sitting right in the middle of the floor. “Those are the last swords you’re getting until your next birthday,” Soren says, his tone calmer than he actually feels. The twins let go and pout, looking up at him with their father’s bright blue eyes. Despite the effect, Soren remains determined. “Now, what did I say about magic?”

“It’s dangerous…” they both echo each other, eyes downcast now and hands tucked behind their backs. Priam heads out the door with his practice sword.

“Extremely. If you burn this house down, I’m going to flay you both alive.”

“If we burn the house down, we’ll all be dead, anyway,” Selene says cheekily. The five-year-old is quick-witted, but not bright enough to know when to keep her mouth shut.

Soren just stares at her. Her smirk fades. Eric is already contrite, going over to pick up the remains of their training swords. The sage holds his daughter’s gaze for a moment longer, and finally, it’s too much for her. She yelps nervously, and rushes to help her brother. Soren leans against the table, one hand on his abdomen, and watches them.

Ike comes inside then, carrying tiny Ludo on his shoulder. The boy smiles happily, reaches out, and Soren leans up to nuzzle his cheek as Ike bends down to kiss the side of his forehead. Their soon-to-be-second youngest is all rosy cheeks and smiles, brilliant red eyes and bubbling laughter. He’s like a small version of Kurthnaga, with dark, sleek green hair.

“Ike, may I speak with you about something?” Soren says, and his sweet tone puts Ike immediately on guard. He frowns.

“What did they do?” Ike immediately glances over into the kitchen, where the two children who most resemble him are hurriedly sweeping the floor.

“They apparently tried to start a little campfire,” Soren says.

“No, we didn’t!” Eric shouts, dropping the dustpan.

“We were trying to cook,” Selene adds. “Mommy’s sick, so we wanted to help…”

Ike sighs, and puts the two-year-old down. “That’s fine, but you need to be careful about these things. What would you do if you started a big fire?”

The twins exchange glances. It’s practically broadcast on their faces: They are absolutely delighted with the idea of being powerful enough to start a blaze. The corner of Ike’s mouth twitches, and Soren knows that it’s a lost cause. Ike can’t pretend to be angry with their children.

Ludo clings to Soren’s knees, and Soren carefully lowers himself into a chair so the toddler can clamber into his lap. There isn’t much room now, and Ludo has to kneel on Soren’s thighs with his hands on his belly, but the boy is so small for his age that it’s practically nothing at all to have him there.

“Dad!” Priam shouts from outside.

“What is it, Priam?” Ike calls.

Priam appears in the doorway, and the twins scamper for cover under the table. The ten-year-old is holding up a charred… thing. Soren can’t immediately recognize it. Priam says, “I found one of your winter gloves.”

Ike’s gaze snaps to the twins, who are trying to sneak across the floor. “Did you two—?!”

With a shriek and a yelp, they bolt for the door, ducking past their older brother as he examines the flattened remains of the glove. “I dunno where the other one is,” he says, obviously amazed. “This is good work, huh, Mom?”

Soren could cry. Those gloves were very necessary, very sturdy, and very expensive.

“I didn’t do it!” Eric shouts from the yard, still running with his sister as Ike chases after them.

“Priam cut the floor when he tried to pick up Ragnell!” Selene has always been one to try to bargain. If she placed blame on someone else, she figured that she would get away with whatever she had done.

“Hey, I did not!” Priam turns, dropping the glove. “You stop lying, Selene!”

“And Ludo’s the one who broke the honey jar!” she followed up, streaking past the open doorway. Ike had already caught Eric and is now stalking towards her with the boy under his arm.

“That was you!” Priam raises his practice sword. “Come her, you little _mordano_!”

“Soren?”

The sage sat bolt upright, his eyes wild and his breath ragged. Ike put an arm around him, his eyes glinting in the darkness. From across the room, Soren could hear Priam snoring. He settled back, the world reorganizing itself. Ike enveloped him in his arms.

They never needed words between them, especially after so many years together. The only thing Ike said was, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Soren nuzzled into his side, feeling the warmth wrapping him up like a blanket. Ike’s grip tightened just a bit, as if to reassure him that he was still there.

Naturally, Ike would assume that Soren had had a nightmare – about war, about his past, about the inevitable future. Soren didn’t feel particularly inclined to share the real reason for his sudden awakening. They had never discussed having more children. It was something that they both seemed to agree on – if it happened, then it would happen. But still, at the beginning at least, Soren had frequently fretted over the possibilities.

Priam was eight now, and in those few years Soren hadn’t noticed any signs of a second pregnancy. He could say that he was a little relieved (he didn’t do well with chaos, after all). He closed his eyes, reveling in the peaceful silence. His hand came to rest over his flat abdomen.

Maybe, deep down, in the very back of his mind, he wondered, What if?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sometimes toy with the possibility of giving Ike and Soren a big family. Ultimately, I don't know if it would work for them - I rather like the dynamic that they have as a family of three. But sometimes, you can't help but wonder, what if? 
> 
> In case you were curious, here's the list of their (non-existent) children, minus Priam:
> 
> \- Selene, shaggy blue hair and bright blue eyes, female, adept with thunder magic.  
> \- Eric, shaggy blue hair and bright blue eyes, male, adept with fire magic. Selene's twin.  
> \- Ludo, sleek dark-green hair and red eyes, male, bubbly personality. Like, think if Mist and Kurthnaga had a baby.  
> \- The unborn fifth one, Aster, sleek dark blue hair and brown eyes, female, adept with wind magic. 
> 
> ... I don't really know why I included that, but oh, well.


	16. The Birds and the Bees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ike and Soren have an awkward talk with Priam.
> 
> Priam's age: 7 years

“Dad, where did I come from?”

It wasn’t a question that came completely out of the blue. Kids were curious. Kids were especially curious about themselves and the world immediately around them. And Priam was one of the most curious children Ike had ever known. It was really only a matter of time, as he got older, before he began to ask the difficult questions.

That didn’t mean that Ike was prepared for them, though.

He paused mid-swing and let the wood axe fall to his side as he regarded his son. Priam was sitting on the bench not far from the wood pile, swinging his legs back and forth, staring at Ike intently. “OK,” was all Ike could think to say at the moment.

Priam tilted his head. “Huh?”

Ike blew out a sigh, ran his hand through his hair. “Uh, how about we talk about this later?” he said. “We’ll get Mom and discuss it together.”

It wasn’t the answer that Priam had wanted to hear, but he accepted it.

>>><<<

The little family sat around the table in the middle of their one-room home: Ike leaning back with one arm slung over the backrest, Priam kicking absent-mindedly at the chair legs, and Soren with back straight and hands folded in front of him. They had agreed that they would tell Priam the truth – Ike wasn’t ever one to lie, and Soren never believed in coddling children with false tales.

Soren started the conversation. “You wanted to know where you come from, Priam.” It wasn’t really a question, but Priam nodded in answer.

“Yeah. How did I get here?”

Ike could see a slight tic in Soren’s jaw – a sign of nervousness. He reached over and placed his hand on Soren’s arm. Soren nodded to him, reassured. “You know that I am Branded,” he began. “And… you know what that means.”

“Uh-huh. You’re half laguz.” Priam pointed to the mark on his own forehead. “I’m Branded, too!”

“Yes…”

Ike wished that he could erase that pained expression from his husband’s face. But the scars ran too deeply.

Soren cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and slid into that bluntness that had often protected his more vulnerable side. He had to get through this, for Priam’s sake. “Everybody has a sex, Priam. That means that they are either male or female.” His tone was becoming more businesslike. “If you are born male, at the very least, you have what is called a penis.”

The boy’s face scrunched up in confusion. “You mean… Down there?”

“Yes.”

“Uh… OK.”

“Females are not born with that.”

“I know,” Priam said. “I saw some of the girls from the village when we all went swimming.”

Soren nodded. This was to be expected. “When an adult man and an adult woman have sex, it sometimes results in a child being born.”

Many seven-year-olds might have balked at such a revelation. Not Priam, though. He had caught his parents doing the deed too many times to not understand what went on between a married couple. Ike was frankly impressed with his son’s bluntness as he said, “I know that. But how did I get here?”

“Your father and I… We…” Now Soren was faltering again. His face was getting a little pink. “Obviously, we had sex. And now, here you are.”

“But that doesn’t make sense!” Priam groaned.

“Just…” Soren coughed into his hand. “Just listen, Priam. This is a little difficult for me. I…” Another squeeze of his arm from Ike’s large, warm hand. He steeled himself. “I’m a man, but I have some female traits. On the outside, I’m just like any male. But inside, I have a womb like any woman.”

Again, Priam seemed nonplussed. “OK.”

“You’ve seen the scar that I sustained from your birth. That is how you came into the world.” Unconsciously, Soren’s hand went to that spot just below his navel. “I couldn’t birth you the way a woman could. So, the doctor had to cut you out of me.”

“I know that,” Priam sighed. He seemed to be getting only more flustered and confused. “But how did I get here?”

“I just explained that to you,” Soren said, now a bit irritated. “Your father’s semen somehow found its way into the small opening to my womb, and it created you. Then, when you were ready to be born, Chell delivered you surgically. It isn’t that complicated. You’ve seen sheep give birth before, you should understand the principles, at least.”

“But how. Did. I,” Priam spoke slowly, his own frustration showing, “Get. _Here_?”

“I just told you that!” Now Soren was angry. Was the boy trying to embarrass him? “As for why I have… that, I suppose that’s just a side-effect of my mixed blood. We don’t know very much about dragons, so it’s possible that this is… common to them.”

Priam stared at his mother, his father’s frown on his face, blinking slowly. “But how…” he began, and Soren had had enough.

“Are you trying to make me angry?!”

But Ike had just had a thought. “Uh, Priam? When you say ‘here’, what exactly do you mean?” he asked.

The child gave a long-suffering sigh, as if he couldn’t believe that his father was asking such a thing. “I mean, here in Kemo! My friend Kivik came from the north, near Fjora. And Rosa was born here in Kemo.” As he spoke, Soren’s face fell. “And Jet says he was born in Tellius, but I didn’t believe him ‘cause he can’t speak Tellian, but then he said he meant Hatari, and then he asked where I came from, so I asked you, and now you’re talking about sex and babies when I just wanned to know where I came from.” He finished with a little sigh, obviously somewhat offended.

Ike glanced at Soren. The sage was staring with his mouth slightly ajar. “So… You already knew about your mom, and how you were born?” Ike asked, because he just had to know how that little revelation had occurred.

“Yeah!” Priam huffed. “I figured that out forever ago! My friend Alesso says that moms can only be women, but I know that’s not true, and he said that my mom has to be a girl, and I said he isn’t, and then we had a fight and I won, so it’s settled.” He crossed his arms. “So, where do I come from?!”

As Soren was still busy gawking, Ike answered. “You were born here, in Kemo.”

“Thank you!” Priam threw his hands into the air. “Can I go play now?”

“Yeah. Sure, son.” Ike watched as Priam scooted his chair out, hopped down, and ran out the door.

The two sat in silence for a moment. Ike was trying very hard to keep the amusement off of his face. Normally, his stoic demeanor covered it well, but it was when he didn’t want it to show that it became obvious. Soren turned to him, his mouth still slightly agape. Ike just shrugged. He didn’t know what to say.

The corner of Ike’s mouth twitched. Soren’s eyes narrowed.

“Yes, I’m sure it’s very amusing,” the sage said dryly, standing and turning sharply on his heel. Before Ike could call him back, he had disappeared through the door of the watchtower.

Alone, Ike let his mirth overcome him. It was quite an adventure, indeed, raising a child.


	17. A Passing Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ike and Soren face a common but intense parental fear.
> 
> Priam's age: 2 years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still sick - mostly on the mend, but still achy and coughing. It inspired me to write this.

Rain lashed against the pavement of the town plaza, leaving it slick and dangerous to navigate in the darkness. Ike didn’t care, though. He ran, despite his boots slipping now and then, despite the rain getting into his eyes.

He knew that the main entrance to the clinic would be open, even at this hour. The dim yellow light above the door could hardly be seen through the downpour, but he found it almost by memory alone, and made for it as soon as it came within view. He reached the handle just as he slipped and held on to keep himself upright. Pulling as hard as he could against the wind, he forced the door open and all but threw himself inside, a gust slamming it closed behind him. Trembling, panting, blinking water out of his eyes, he stepped further into the reception room, just taking a moment to adjust to the sudden silence.

His jaw clenching, he shook himself. There was no time.

“CHELL!” he called, stumbling to the front desk. He leaned forward, dripping water all over the polished wood floor. There was a small silver bell sitting on the desk; he smashed it with his fist, over and over.

She came almost before the first ring could fade into the second, emerging from the back room that served as her living quarters. She was dressed for bed but was already slipping a white jacket over her shoulders. “What is it?”

“Priam. He has a fever.” Panic was a familiar enemy in his life. Years and years of fighting it had taught him how to block it out. It was like wearing a coat of stone, while inside he tore himself apart with the fear.

The healer – the doctor – said nothing. She disappeared through the other door that Ike knew led back to the examination rooms and the infirmary. He focused on breathing while she gathered her supplies, remembering the other two times he had come here in such a state. The first time, he had left with the knowledge that he was soon to be a father. The second time, he had departed with a newborn in his arms.

When the brunette woman appeared again, he led her out the door, holding it open for her. They fought their way into the night, against wind and rain and the ever-present specter of leg-locking fear.

>>><<<

Soren was calm as he sat on the bed, holding Priam in his arms and rocking gently back and forth. He couldn’t let himself slip into the deep waters of panic, because Ike would return. Ike would bring Chell, and she would make sure that Priam survived this night. His cynical nature wanted to argue, but he refused to listen to it. Priam would be fine. Ike said so.

The child coughed, and Soren’s hold tightened, pressing the fever-flushed face into his chest. Priam’s body was like a furnace, nearly unbearably hot to Soren’s cool skin, but the sage held on. He didn’t know what to do, other than to wait for Ike and Chell. He had never dealt with a fever this bad before, in anyone. When his homemade potions had failed, and Ike had gone for the doctor, Soren had known that he was out of ways to fight. Comfort wasn’t something that Soren knew well, and he didn’t know what he should do to soothe his child. The incessant rocking was all he could think of.

Deep in his chest, a soft rumble started. He didn’t often make this sound. It had been beaten out of him when he’d been a child, by the woman who couldn’t stand the disgusting sight of a boy who purred and growled and snarled. But now, it seemed instinctive. He crooned softly to Priam, hoping that the wretched curse of his bloodline would do something, for once, to bring comfort.

The door burst open all at once, startling Soren into silence. Ike and Chell entered, bringing a strong gust of wind and rain with them. It was warm and balmy, but cooler than Priam’s heated skin.

“How long as he been sick?” Chell asked, immediately setting her bag on the table and opening it.

“Two days,” Soren said. “It was just a cold, but tonight he grew worse.”

“What have you given him?”

“Feverfew, and yarrow.”

“Lay him on the bed, please.” She spoke in a calm, soothing voice that did nothing to ease the panic in Soren’s heart. But he did as she said, acting as if his body weren’t his own. The last thing he wanted to do was to relinquish his hold on his son; he did so anyway, laying him out on the bed and freezing himself over when the boy whimpered and shifted.

Chell stood over the prone little body, a folded cloth in her hand. Soren’s fists clenched at his sides. His instincts were screaming at him to push her away, to protect his baby. As if sensing this, Ike stood next to him and put a dripping arm around his shoulders. They watched as the doctor pressed the cloth to Priam’s face, to his neck, under his arms. They watched and held their silence, Soren all ice, Ike turned to stone.

With the cloth resting on Priam’s neck, Chell returned to her bag. She produced a vial of a light blue mixture that glowed slightly in the dim light of the cabin. Gently, so gently that even Soren’s fierce protective instinct was quelled, she helped Priam to drink it. He coughed at first but eased back into sleep almost instantly. She lowered him again and stepped back.

Ike looked to Chell in a wordless plea, and Soren went to tentatively sit at Priam’s side. “Give it a little bit, and his temperature should go down,” Chell said as Soren pressed his hand to the toddler’s forehead.

“Already he feels cooler,” the sage remarked, relief evident in the slump of his shoulders. Ike let out a breath that he hadn’t been aware of holding.

“I’m going to stay until I’m sure he’ll be alright, but I’d like to say that his prognosis is good.”

“Thank you.” Ike’s words were clipped, but Chell understood. She smiled at him and at Soren.

“It’s a good thing you came to get me. This sort of thing can turn deadly very quickly.”

“I didn’t know.” Soren’s voice was barely a whisper.

“It’s not your failing,” Chell said. “Fevers in young children are common. You can’t really prevent them. But they can change in a wink.”

“… Thank you.” Soren brushed Priam’s hair from his face, pressing his fingers to the brand where the fever had been highest. It was cooler now, and a light sweat had begun to form. Soren used the cold cloth (it was dry; some kind of magic? He would have to look into that spell) to sponge away the perspiration. His hands were shaking now that the danger had passed, and now that his emotions were catching up with him.

Ike dug in his pocket and brought out a handful of gold coins, giving them to Chell before the doctor could refuse them. “Take them,” he said as she tried to hand some of them back. “Just… Just take them. For your clinic.” Soren didn’t have any desire to protest. Any price was worth paying.

“Mmm… M’ma…?”

All eyes turned to Priam, who was blinking up at Soren sleepily. Soren pulled the toddler into his lap and cradled him, ignoring that Chell was witness to his pathetic display of worry. The boy was sweaty and a bit warm, but he was breathing clearly now, his heartbeat strong against Soren’s own. “How do you feel, little one?” Chell asked, bending down to Priam’s level.

“S’eepy,” he mumbled. Then he frowned. “No doctor. No wanna.”

“Shhh.” Soren stroked a hand through his spiky hair. Priam buried his face in Soren’s chest, clinging with revived strength.

“Let him rest now,” Chell said, checking the back of his neck with her hand. “His temperature is good, so he should be fine.”

“Will you stay?” Ike asked, glancing at the window. “It’s still pouring out there. We have a spare mattress.”

“I must get back to the clinic, in case something else comes up. But thank you.” She packed her things away and took up her bag.

“I’ll take you back.”

“No, I can manage on my own.” She gave Ike a gentle smile. “You stay and make sure your son feels better. He needs his parents now.”

With one last unsure glance at the window, Ike nodded. “Be careful.”

Soren hardly heard her leave. He was completely focused on Priam’s soft breaths, on his pattering heartbeat. He didn’t register when Ike got out of his damp clothes and put on dry pants. He didn’t stir when Ike sat next to him and pulled him into his arms, enveloping both him and Priam. “Let’s make a pact,” the vanguard muttered into Soren’s hair. “We’ll let Priam run around naked, as long as he never does this to us again.”

“Hm. If only it worked that way.” Soren leaned into Ike’s chest, shifting so Priam was held between them.

“… That was frightening.”

Frightening wasn’t the word for it. “I felt as if…” he hesitated.

“Yes?”

“I felt as if I were back… back there. Watching you go off to face the Black Knight, alone.”

Ike’s hold tightened. "I know. For a while, it was like I was back in Gallia, with my father..." He couldn't finish that thought, but Soren knew exactly what he meant. 

“We’re supposed to take care of him. How could we be so helpless?” There was bitterness in Soren’s voice.

“We did the right thing. We got Chell. And he’s going to be OK now.” Ike’s hand cupped the back of Priam’s head. The boy was sleeping soundly now, his expression untroubled. “It’s OK,” he repeated, as much to himself as to Soren.

The night wore on, the storm raged outside, but still Ike and Soren didn’t put Priam to bed. They held him for the rest of the night, both leaning on each other, until the downpour became a gentle shower and the fire burned itself out.


	18. Drawing - Caught in a Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did this four-panel comic-type thing a long time ago. Recently decided to redo it, clean up the lines, and color it. Critique is more than welcome - I'm not very good, but I'm always trying to improve.


	19. Growing Pains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy can't help it.
> 
> Priam's age: 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm stuck on a few other ideas that have been percolating in my head, so I wrote this one to sort of unblock the gears. It was meant as a short practice, but I ended up liking it. I hope y'all enjoy it!

The day that Priam returned home with a flower and a confused expression on his face, Soren knew that they would have to have a talk. At eleven years old, he had begun to go into town on his own to play with his friends. Soren wasn’t concerned, as long as Priam came back well before dark and always carried his little dagger with him. He delighted in seeing his son about town, running around with the other children his age, leading the little group like his father had once led whole armies. It was simple, innocent; Soren had thought that there wasn’t anything to worry about.

How wrong he was.

On a day in early spring, Priam returned home far before his usual time. Ike and Soren were on the roof, repairing some shingles. The rusty gate hinges alerted them to their son’s arrival. Ike glanced over to see Priam coming into the yard, something held in his hand and his head bowed. “Back already?” he called.

“Huh?” Priam looked up as if caught in a daydream. “Oh. Yeah. I guess.” He lowered his gaze again and went to sit on the bench by the well. Soren sighed.

“Looks as if something happened,” he said, wiping his hands on his robe.

“You want to, or should I?”

“I’ll do it. You talked to him about that… habit of his.”

Ike gave a snorting chuckle. “Yeah, you can have the next dozen talks after that.”

Soren climbed down the ladder and went to join Priam on the bench. The boy was staring at a small white flower, twirling it in his fingers with a frown on his face. Though Soren wasn’t the best at drawing a conversation out of people, he had always been fairly good at sensing Priam’s moods. He didn’t bother beating around the bush. “What’s wrong?”

“A girl gave me this,” the boy said, holding the flower up to catch the sunlight.

“And?”

“It was weird.” Priam’s frown deepened. “I thought we were all friends, but lately, some of the girls have been acting weird around me. Then, Rosa gave me this, and she just ran off giggling like… I dunno. Like it was a joke or something. But I don’t get it.”

Soren stared at the flower, his heart clenching strangely. It had begun. He had always wondered whether their son would be inflicted with the curse that had followed Ike since prepubescence. Now, he knew. The proof was lying in Priam’s hand. And honestly, Soren wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Mom?” Priam had caught Soren’s thoughtful expression. His eyes widened. “It’s not some kind of hex, is it?”

“Something like that, yes.” Soren smiled when Priam dropped the flower and pulled his legs up onto the bench, as if it would burst into flame at any moment. “It’s nothing serious, but you are suffering from something of a curse.”

“I am?!”

“Don’t look so alarmed. It happened to your father, too.”

“It did?!” Priam only looked more concerned, glancing up at the roof with a pale face.

“You’re simply… Well, it’s… shit…” Soren frowned, trying to articulate his thoughts. He wished now that he hadn’t so readily volunteered for this. “Priam, you’re getting to an age where people will begin to notice you. Specifically, girls will start to notice you.”

“They noticed me before,” Priam said, and Soren shook his head.

“I mean that they’ll start to find you attractive.”

“Attractive?” The boy looked like he’d just swallowed a lemon.

“Mm. Your father always garnered a lot of female attention, even before he became well known. And from what I’ve heard, his father was similarly admired. It is now your burden to bear.”

“You mean… Those girls… They want to…?” Priam seemed to be struggling with the concept.

“They think that you’re handsome, and they want to show you affection.”

He scrunched his face in disgust. “No way… Do they want to kiss me?”

“Possibly.”

“EWW!” Priam hopped off of the bench, stepping on the flower in the process and looking none too sorry for it. “They wanna kiss me and hold my hand and have babies with me?”

“Well, not quiet yet. But yes, as you grow older, they will start to think about things like that.” Now, Soren was just amused. Ike had never had any of this explained to him at such a young age. He wondered if Ike would have reacted this way, or if he simply would have shrugged it off as he had when he’d learned about it in his late teens. Odds were that he would have just brushed it off; Priam had always had a flair for the dramatic that Ike lacked.

“I don’t wanna kiss any girls! That’s gross!”

“You don’t have to kiss anyone if you don’t want to. Though, as you grow, you’ll probably also start to think about it.”

“NO WAY!” Priam shouted, and dashed off into the house, letting the door slam behind him. Soren flinched at the noise and put his hand up to his mouth to hide a smile. Before long he was laughing.

“That didn’t seem to go too well,” Ike said, climbing down from the roof. “What was that about?”

“The girls are starting to notice him,” Soren said.

Even in his forties, Ike could be dense about such things. He gave Soren a confused look, which Soren returned with a raised eyebrow. It took him a moment to catch on. “Oh.” He sat next to Soren with a heavy sigh. “Well, what are we gonna do about it? That’s life, I guess.”

“It’s thanks to your genes,” Soren said in mock accusation. “You should be the one to talk him through this.”

“I wouldn’t know what to say.” Ike ran a hand through his hair. “You did all the work, keeping Aimee away and scaring off the shop girls.”

“Mm. I suppose he’ll have to meet someone to do the same for him.”

Ike smirked. “He couldn’t be so lucky.”

Soren bent down and retrieved the half-crushed flower, spinning it around absent-mindedly. “You know, I wonder about that… Do you think he’s going to have a skewed view of courtship, because of us?”

“What do you mean?”

The sage’s cheeks reddened. “We’re both men. And we raised him together. What if he ends up like us? What if he thinks it’s normal to take up with a man?”

“What’s wrong with that?” Ike pulled Soren close, his arm around the sage’s waist. “I don’t care who he loves, as long as he’s happy. Why should it matter?”

“Oh, I don’t really know.” Soren let the flower drop. “It’s not normal, is it? Particularly with us having him…”

Ike pressed a kiss to Soren’s forehead. “You think too much. He’s already his own person. I mean, my parents were ‘normal’, like you say, and I still ended up with you. I don’t think it’s something you learn. It’s just something you feel in your heart.”

“Ike…” Soren buried his face in the broad chest that always comforted him, allowed himself to be enveloped in the strong arms that always protected him.

“Look, he’s not stupid. He knows that most men aren’t like you. He’s OK with that, isn’t he?”

“Yes…”

“If he ends up with another man, and he wants a family, I think he’ll be able to figure out that they’ll have to adopt.”

“… You're right.”

Ike nodded, stroking Soren’s hair. “But you know, right now, he’s too young to even think about all this stuff. Just let him figure it out on his own. We’ll be there to give him advice if he needs it.”

“… OK.” Soren nuzzled under Ike’s chin, content in his beloved’s embrace. Ike had a way of simplifying things so that Soren’s overly active brain could make peace with the issue, and this was one time when Soren was very glad for it.

The door to the house opened, and Priam came outside, wrapped in what looked to be every article of clothing he owned. “What are you wearing?” Soren asked, pulling away from Ike so he could gawk at their son.

“Protection,” Priam said seriously.

“Heh… Priam… Just what are you trying to protect yourself from?” Ike snickered, fighting back a laugh.

“It’s to keep them from kissing me. Those girls think I’m some piece of meat on the chopping block. Well, this hog isn’t for sale!” He stepped over the pathway, his gait stiff due to the layers of pants he was wearing. “I’ll be back later!” he called, swinging the gate open and stomping through it.

“Well, that will certainly keep them off of him,” Soren said dryly. “Any girl who remains interested after seeing that little display deserves him.”

“You think he’ll remember this in a few years, when he’s trying to get a date?”

“Certainly, if I have anything to say about it.”

Ike smirked. “You’re so cruel.”

“Mm. And vindictive. This is his retribution for everything.”

“The hours of labor, the surgery, the sleepless nights, or the broken stuff?”

“All of it.” Soren leaned back, looking up at the clear blue sky. “One day, he’s probably going to find someone. I can’t _wait_ for that…” His tone was heavy with sarcasm.

“You’re going to be the worst in-law,” Ike said with a chuckle.

“Then he’d better find someone who can stand up to me, hm?” 

“He will. He’s our son, isn’t he?”

Soren smiled, and leaned into Ike’s shoulder. “Yes. He is our son.”


	20. Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soren begins to relax more and more, and his draconic traits begin to show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to explore the idea of Soren being able to purr, because I love that head-canon.

It’s quiet in the little wood outside the village of Kemo. This is good – Soren has been on edge for a while, making him sensitive to every small noise besides the rustling leaves or the chirping birds. As the baby within him grows, his nerves become frayed, at times making him feel as if he’s lost all control of himself. His body is now foreign to him, doing things that are strange and frightening. He can no longer channel magic the way he once did (will he ever be normal again?). And his instincts are coming out more and more, making him feel like the feral boy he once was. He no longer feels like himself, and it terrifies him when he stops to think about it.

For right now, though, he’s content. Ike has gone fishing in the stream further into the woods, but his scent lingers in their small cabin. Soren is stretched out on the bed, his face buried in Ike’s pillow, breathing deeply and feeling the restless movements of the little one. In these final weeks of his pregnancy, he’s becoming more uncomfortable as each day passes. The baby is beginning to outgrow its living quarters. Chell has scheduled the delivery two weeks from now, and to Soren, it can’t come soon enough.

It’s cold outside, but the newly built fireplace offers plenty of warmth. The bed is new, too, a large frame cobbled together from the rickety bunks that had been found in the old building. He and Ike had built it themselves, with Ike bartering firewood and a day’s labor for the large chaff mattress that now cradles Soren like a nest. The scent of oat chaff and Ike lulls Soren into a light doze, with the little one settling down to finally give his weary body some rest.

He’s not sure how long he’s been nodding off when the front gate squeaks. He snaps to attention, freezing in place and listening carefully. Heavy steps are coming up the walkway towards the house. A slight scuff on every other step. The creaking of wicker.

Soren relaxes. It’s just Ike.

The door opens, and Ike comes inside, swinging a basket in one hand. “Hey,” he says when he notices that Soren is awake. His voice is hushed.

“Any luck?” Soren doesn’t bother sitting up. Ike would just scold him for trying to help.

“Yeah,” Ike says, going to set the basket on the counter. The corner of his mouth is twitching. Soren can tell that it was a good haul, that Ike is probably feeling very proud of himself. He has brought food for his mate, and he’s pleased.

Soren scowls at his own inner voice. _Food for his mate_ – what kind of thought is this?

“Do you want me to go ahead and cook them?”

The sage sighs. “Alright.” He can hear Ike getting to work in the kitchen, lighting the stove, bringing down the heavy iron skillet. Soren isn’t particularly hungry, but he can imagine that Ike is starving.

He wants to get up and help, but he knows that Ike wouldn’t let him. And truly, he doesn’t mind sitting it out now. It’s warm and comfortable on the bed. He has the blanket surrounding him, and the extra pillows propped against his back. There is a thick pad of cotton below the chaff mattress, and it offers extra support as he feels himself sinking into the airy top layer. Once again, he drowses, smelling wood smoke and sorrel and Ike.

Ike glances towards the bed and smiles when he hears a faint rumbling. It’s rare that Soren feels relaxed enough to purr so loudly. He looks content where he is, lying in his nest of pillows and blankets, eyes shut and face peaceful. Ike could start purring, himself, just at the sight. It’s a sound that he can’t make, but he feels it in his heart. Lately, Soren’s more laguz traits have been coming out. Ike wonders if it’s the pregnancy, or simply the solitude in a land where nobody knows about laguz and Branded.

Whichever it is, Ike hopes that he can help Soren feel safe enough to keep doing it.

>>><<<

In some ways, Ike is warier of the whole business than Soren is. Though the sage sometimes has trouble accepting the changes in his body, it is Ike who worries the most. As the baby grows, Soren keeps to their little house, cautious of the townsfolk and their opinions – more specifically, of their potential reaction to a man who can bear children. But the doctor reassures them that in Baris, it’s not unheard of. Though it’s uncommon, it isn’t a cause for much concern among the general population. Things like this just happen, and Soren is somewhat reassured. Rumor has it that there is a woman in town who has fathered children, so he’s not too concerned.

Still, when Soren opens the door on a cool, bright afternoon, Ike is immediately alert. “Where are you going?” he asks, looking up from the basket he’s been weaving.

Soren gives him a look. “I thought I’d take a jog around the country,” he says dryly. “I’m just going into the yard. I feel like being outside.”

Ike stays at his task only a moment longer. He can’t stand being too far from his husband lately. He walks outside, feeling a little sheepish – Soren has been on edge, and he’s half expecting to be scolded for following him. He knows that his apprehension is misplaced. There’s nothing in these woods that would hurt them. Their yard is safe, surrounded by a solid stone wall. And Soren is sitting against the oak tree, leaning back with his eyes closed and his face tilted upward to greet the sun.

It’s a peaceful scene, but still, Ike worries. He listens carefully as he walks over to the well, staying far enough away that Soren might not think he’s hovering.

“You can come over here, if you want,” Soren says, and Ike sighs. His cover’s blown.

“I’m not trying to follow you.”

“Don’t lie, Ike. You’re terrible at it.” There’s a little smile on the sage’s face. Ike relaxes just a bit.

“Sorry. I know you hate it when I do that.”

“I don’t mind.” Opening his eyes, Soren stares up at the wispy clouds streaking the sky high above them. “I’m sorry... I know I’ve been difficult to deal with.”

“You’re pregnant. I think you have the right to be difficult.” Ike comes over to sit next to Soren on the prickly grass.

“I don’t mean to be. Especially not to you…” There is guilt in his eyes, and Ike pulls him into a loose hug.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been overly cautious, so I don’t blame you for getting annoyed sometimes.”

It’s surprising and a little jarring to feel the rumble against his chest, but it starts up all the same. Soren leans into him, shifting so he’s sitting in Ike’s lap, his face tucked under Ike’s chin and Ike’s arms around him. Ike doesn’t want to breathe. Soren has never made this sound unless he’s half-conscious, after sex or just before drifting off to sleep. He’s afraid that if he blinks, the spell will break, and Soren will realize that he’s purring.

“Do you think it’s strange?” The rumble dies down just a bit. Ike’s hold tightens.

“No. I like it.”

“Really?”

Ike nuzzles him, kisses his forehead, rubs his back. “I think it’s nice. It makes me feel calm.”

Soren doesn’t say anything else, but the rumble increases in volume. Ike holds him close, his hand coming up to rest on Soren’s abdomen. He can feel the little one moving around inside, and it gives him the same thrill that it always does. “I think he likes it, too,” he says. “I bet it’s comforting to him.”

“Hmm.” Soren closes his eyes and purrs louder. Away from prying eyes and ears, far away from Tellius and its prejudices, he feels at ease. There’s only him and Ike and their baby, the little watch post they made into a home, the sighing treetops and twittering birds. Soren hates this part of himself, because it will always be a reminder of his wretched bloodline; but if Ike accepts him, then that’s all he cares about. Ike accepts it, and that’s good enough for him. If Ike likes it, then he’ll purr and trill and croon until he’s hoarse. And maybe, someday, he’ll learn to like it, too.

>>><<<

It’s after a feeding that Priam is most content. Still too young to do much more than eat and sleep, the child is nevertheless fascinating to his parents. It’s a cool night in early spring, and Soren has laid Priam in the big bed for a nap after feeding and changing him. Ike is already in bed, lying on his side, shirtless as usual. He moves his arm to prop his head up, and places his other hand on Priam’s stomach, smiling as the baby grasps at his fingers. “Think he’ll sleep through the night this time?” Ike asks.

“It’s possible,” Soren says with a little sigh, sliding into bed on Priam’s other side and curling around him, butting his head against Ike’s arm. “He’s been doing better lately.”

Ike wiggles his fingers under Priam’s chin, and the baby coos happily, giving a weak little smile. “Two months old, already. Can you believe it?”

“Mm. He’s grown so much, hasn’t he?”

Ike is about to say something, but he stops. Something has caught his attention. Frowning, he lowers his head closer to Priam and listens.

“What is it?” Soren is instantly on guard.

“Shh.” It’s very faint, very soft, but it’s there – a tiny rumbling sound, weak but rhythmic. “Do you hear that?”

Soren leans down and listens, too. His eyes widen. “He’s purring.”

“Heh, he can do it, too.” Ike shifts so his arm is encircling Priam, hugging him to his chest. “Yeah, I can feel it. See?”

The sage bites his lower lip. He’s not sure how to feel about this. “Do you think he’ll do it in front of other people?”

“Soren.” Ike gives him a gentle look. “Don’t worry about that right now. Just listen. He’s happy.”

They shift, Ike resting on his back with Priam on his chest and Soren held in the crook of his arm. Soren’s hand comes up to cover Priam’s back. He smiles, his thumb stroking a soft chubby cheek as Priam smiles at him. The purring grows just a bit louder. “He’s like a kitten,” Ike says with amusement.

“A draconic kitten. By the goddess, we’ve created a monster.”

“Don’t say that.” Ike’s tone is suddenly serious. “Don’t even joke about that, Soren.”

“… I’m sorry.”

Ike’s hold tightens around Soren’s shoulders. “You’re not a monster, you know. And neither is he. I don’t care what anyone says.”

“You’re right.” Soren moves to take Priam into his arms, and starts up purring, himself. He had tried to quash this instinct after Priam’s birth, obviously to no avail. No matter what he feels about it, he decides that he won’t allow Priam to feel ashamed of himself.

“Hey, you know something?”

“Hmm?”

“I wish I could do that.” There’s no hint of mockery in Ike’s voice. “It makes me feel better when you do it. I bet it makes Priam feel content, too. That’s a kind of comfort that you can give him that I can’t.” He kisses the top of Soren’s head. “You should be proud of that.”

Ike has a point, and Soren is loath to admit it. His feelings on the matter are complex. But this is who he is. This is who his son is. And the last thing he wants is for his son to hate himself. And so, he purrs, lulling Priam to sleep, encouraging the rumble in that tiny chest. He gives over his fears for now. And for the time being, he allows himself to be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to improve with different angles, and God willing, with proportions.


	21. The Day You Were Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the day Priam was born, Ike was introduced to a new side of Soren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iiiiiit's my birthday! And what better way to celebrate than to post these two drabbles that have been sitting on my laptop for a bit? This one seemed most appropriate, given the circumstance. I actually wrote this a couple of weeks ago, and I've been letting it gel for a while. But I woke up a bit ago and thought, Why not?

Waiting in the front room of the little clinic was torture.

Ike bounced his foot against the floor impatiently, nervously, glancing every few minutes at the door that led to the back rooms. He had been practically forced through that door over an hour ago, Chell pushing at his back with sharp fingertips and a gently reassuring voice. “It shouldn’t take long,” she’d said. “He’ll be asleep during the procedure; he won’t feel any pain.”

Someone else had come in about fifteen minutes after he’d been left to pace the floor of the waiting room. The elderly woman had said something to him in the Barisian tongue, but for the life of him, Ike hadn’t known what. He had made considerable progress in learning, but his newfound skills had abandoned him to his anxiety. He’d only shrugged helplessly, and she had muttered something and gone away again. Ike hoped that she hadn’t been in dire need of seeing the doctor.

Right now, the doctor was busy delivering his child.

When the door opened, finally, Ike’s heart leapt into his throat. Chell emerged, clean and dry, obviously having washed up already. She smiled at him. “It’s a boy,” she said.

Ike’s knees buckled, though he was sitting down. “Soren’s…?”

“Fine,” she said. “He’s still a bit groggy from the sleep spell, but he’ll be alright. You can go see them now.”

Somewhere back in his throat was a “thank you,” but he couldn’t manage to make it come out. Wordlessly, he stood and walked past the doctor, through the wide doorway and into the clinic proper. He felt keenly aware of every fiber of the floorboards as Chell led him to a short hallway with doors on either side. They were all open except for one at the very beginning. She knocked once, softly, and opened the door to allow him inside.

It was a small room, cozier than the stark white exam room that he’d seen so many times before. The walls were painted a soothing blue, and thick tan curtains covered the window. A dim oil lamp burned on a table in the far corner. Soren was lying in the single bed, propped up on pillows, his hands resting at his sides and his eyes closed. Ike went directly to him, bent down to get a better look, as if to reassure himself that he was really there. He let out his breath slowly, relieved, and then he noticed the basket on the other side of the bed.

All else faded from his point of view as he stepped around the bed and peered into that little bassinette. The boy was almost impossibly tiny, seeming too small to have caused such a swelling in Soren’s belly. His eyes were shut tight, his face still wrinkled and reddened. Swaddled so securely, he looked more like a loaf of bread than a human being.

Ike’s hands trembled as he reached down and lifted his son into his arms for the first time.

“Congratulations,” Chell said softly, and Ike almost startled. He had forgotten that she was there. “I’ll be on hand to answer any questions, but for now, I have some things to finish up. He’s been in and out of consciousness, so be warned that he might seem a little loopy.” Ike nodded vaguely and she left, closing the door softly. Ike sat at the side of the bed, too shaken to remain standing.

The whole thing seemed so surreal. Ike had seen the evidence, he had felt the signs of life through kicks and bumps against Soren’s stomach, but it was very different to actually hold a living, breathing baby. He felt warm and light, full of life, and Ike was equal parts awed and terrified and captivated.

“Ike…”

Ike looked over as Soren’s voice reached him through his haze. “H- hey,” Ike managed to say, turning towards Soren and resting his knee against the side of the sage’s leg. “How do you feel?”

“Mm. I feel fantastic.” Soren’s red eyes were dark and heavily lidded; there was a soft smile on his face. “Wha’ about you?”

“I’m… I’m OK.” Ike looked down again, drawn in once more by that sleeping face and the tiny fist curled at the edge of the blanket, just under his cheek. He took in every detail, every feature, from the shockingly thick dark hair to the squashed nose to the dark red mark on his forehead. Ike wasn’t too surprised to see it there; he had wondered if their child would be Branded, and it came as no shock that he was.

“Crying.”

“Huh?” Ike blinked, and felt a strange wetness at the edges of his eyes.

“You’re crying,” Soren said again, his words a bit slurred.

“He’s just… small,” Ike said, surprised by the emotion in his own voice. “He’s so small… I… Can we really do this?”

Soren reached out and put a limp hand on his thigh. “You worry too much. Y’ sound like me.”

Ike laughed. He couldn’t help it. He laughed even harder when Soren started to chuckle along with him. “Are you OK?” Ike finally managed to say.

“Of course,” Soren said. He moved as if to sit up, and Ike carefully shifted the baby to one arm so he could push on Soren’s shoulder.

“Stay down,” Ike said. “You’ll need to recover for a bit. Are you in any pain?”

“None at all,” Soren said. “Chell gave me something after… A potion… I can’t feel anything… right now…”

“Good, I guess.” Ike stroked the baby’s cheek with the back of his finger. “What should we name him? We… We decided on ‘Priam’ if it was a boy, didn’t we?”

There was no response. Ike glanced at Soren and saw that he was asleep again. He smiled. “Looks like he’ll be out of it for a while,” he said to the child. “So, Priam, I guess. We’ll change it if he wants to.” He sighed, feeling that odd dampness creeping down his cheeks, along the edge of his nose. “Priam… Welcome to the world.”

>>><<<

Healing magic, Ike soon learned, could only be used in moderation when it came to a new mother. Despite being a man, Soren was no exception. The incision across his abdomen would need time to heal, and so he remained in the clinic for several days while Chell supervised the administration of healing spells and poultices.

“There’s only one drug preparation that I can give him for pain,” Chell had explained. “The others are too easily passed along to the baby. This is safe, but it has some heavy side effects.” She had explained this to Ike directly, because Soren, dosed regularly with the potion, was at times barely cognizant. He spent the first two days after delivery in a haze, and Ike found himself thinking that if Soren ever remembered this time, he would never be able to live it down.

“I don’t need any medication,” Soren said one morning as Ike sat at his bedside. “You can have it, Ike. You take it.”

“I don’t really need it,” Ike said with a smirk. “But thanks.” Soren had already been given a dose, and it was starting to kick in.

“Mm. Maybe Priam needs it.” Soren held up the empty glass bottle, examining the few drops of blue liquid inside. “Wha… Ike, where did it go?”

“You drank it,” Ike said. He took the bottle from Soren and put it back on the nightstand. Priam fussed a little as he was jostled but settled again once Ike held him against his chest.

“Oh, he’s… Ike, give him to me. He needs me.” Soren tried to sit up – tried and failed, as his arms wobbled under his weight. “Shit…” He fell back against the pillows. “I don’ like this stuff. It makes me… pitiful.”

“You’re not pitiful, you’re just drugged. You’ll heal soon, and then we’ll take Priam home.”

“Priam, you’re gonna love it,” Soren slurred, and Ike couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Isn’t he going t’ love it, Ike?”

“Yeah. He’s gonna love it.”

“You get to sleep in your basket,” Soren said, reaching out with a shaking hand to gently pat Priam’s head. “There’s a… yard. Children… love yards t’ play in. Don’t they, Ike?”

“Yeah, I guess they do.” Ike was trying so hard. If Soren recalled any of this later, then retribution for any signs of amusement would be swift.

“We’ll get you… a pet. Never had a pet… Like Ranulf.”

“Ranulf’s not really a pet,” Ike said.

“No, Ranulf HAD a pet… Kysssa? I think.” Soren blinked, momentarily dizzy. “We’ll get Priam a real pet. Maybe a deer.”

“A deer?”

“He c’n ride it.” Soren sighed wistfully. “He’ll be… the lord of th’ forest… riding a deer…”

“Heh, OK.”

“Majestic.” Soren closed his eyes. “Fuckin’ majestic.”

Ike busied himself with putting Priam back into the basket so Soren wouldn’t see him grinning.

“Ike… I’m so happy…” Soren’s eyes were still closed. “I never thought… I would be this happy. But we did it… We are ssssho in love.”

“Yeah, we are.” Ike sat back down and leaned over to kiss Soren’s brand.

Red, bleary eyes opened, and Soren gave him a gentle smile. “I loved you… for so long… And now we can love Priam. And we’ll… we’ll make it.”

“We will.”

“Mmm. Your father would be happy for us? You think?”

Ike sighed through the twinge in his heart. “I know he would.”

“I hope he would. I… We should… We should tell Priam aaaaaall about Command’r Greil. He wash a great man. My favorite father-in-law.”

Ike stroked Soren’s cheek. “Yeah.”

“Well, he’s be’er than… than YOUR father-in-law. You _killed_ him.”

“Sure did.”

“Do you think Misht would—heheh… Hahaha… I said Misht. MIST, is wha’ I mean. Mischt… No, Misssst…?”

“Maybe you should take a nap now.” Ike pressed another light kiss to Soren’s cheek.

“We should name our baby Mischts… Misss… Missst.”

“We named him Priam.”

“Well, I wanna change it.” Soren pouted like a petulant child. “’S my baby, I wanna change it.”

“How about you sleep on that?”

“Can’t sleep on a baby, Ikkke,” Soren rolled his eyes. “He’s too shmall. Not like you, with your… mushles.” He pushed weakly against Ike’s chest. “Damn muspells… Musch… Mussels?”

“Good night, Soren.”

“Mm. Damn mussels. Maked me… Made me… really horny. An’ then we got… a baby.”

Ike buried his face in the crook of Soren’s neck so he could hide his expression. He wished that he could write this down, so he’d be able to look back on it later.

The sage reached out and put his hand on the rim of the bassinette, unguarded devotion clear on his face. "I wanna name 'im af'er my favorite thing... Ike."

Ike laughed. “That’s my name.”

"Well, then... Then san'ich. Sandich. Hehehe! SANDWHICHTH! Tha's my other fav'rite thing."

Keeping in his mirth was all the harder now. “We… We can’t call him ‘Sandwich’.”

“My baby!” Soren huffed. “My baby, ‘s my choice. Oh, but… But Ike, you should choose, too. He’s… he’s your baby, too. I din’ mean…”

“It’s alright.” Ike just kept stroking Soren’s cheek, trying not to laugh and at the same time wanting to cry from how much he loved this man.

These moments of bizarre ramblings only seemed to last briefly and led into a short but restful sleep that had Soren waking up a little more refreshed every time. It wasn’t long before Soren was mumbling incoherently to himself, his eyes closed and his breaths soft and even. Soon his voice faded to a whisper, and then stopped altogether.

Ike leaned over and reached into the basket, brushing his fingers across his son’s cheek. His other hand grasped Soren’s, their fingers interlocked as Soren held him loosely in his sleep. The baby cooed softly, reflexively turning towards his father’s warmth. Ike smiled, too overcome to do anything else.

He made a mental note to ask Chell if the medication could be lowered a bit, too.


	22. A Morning Argument

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ike lies in bed and listens to the ambient sounds of a typical morning. 
> 
> Priam's Age: 11

Life in Baris was, in general, easygoing. The people in the village of Kemo were laid-back, almost to the point of chronic laziness. There never seemed to be any rush to do anything or be anywhere. It was a pace that Ike had gotten used to over the years, and it was one that he appreciated after the chaos of two wars and life as a mercenary.

Of course, having such a combative child was its own kind of chaos.

Ike awoke gradually on a pale spring morning. He hadn’t stirred when Soren had gotten up at the crack of dawn, and he’d remained asleep through Priam waking and asking for breakfast. It was pleasant to listen to the birds outside and the low murmuring of his family inside and the sizzling of bacon and eggs. The smell drew him out of slumber, but the warmth and softness of the bed held him hostage.

As soon as Soren said, “Put your scarf on,” Ike knew that the morning would not remain peaceful.

“I don’t need it,” Priam said. Ike could almost feel Soren’s frown.

“I didn’t ask if you needed it. I told you to put it on.” The sage’s voice was still soft, but there was a slight edge to it.

“I’m not cold.”

“Priam, put on your scarf.”

“I don’t wanna!” The boy wasn’t bothering to keep his voice down now, and Soren hissed at him in irritation.

“Don’t you dare wake your father!”

“Sorry,” Priam mumbled.

“Now, put it on.”

“Aw, Mom, I don’t want to…”

“I don’t care what you want. I’m not going to repeat myself.”

As Priam grew, he was beginning to push against his parents more and more. Today’s point of contention was obviously going to be the scarf. Soren had had him wear it since he’d gotten over a cold the previous week. As long as Priam was still coughing, he’d said, the scarf would be necessary to prevent pneumonia. It was sound logic to Ike, but Priam didn’t care about logic. In fact, if Priam had his way, he would go around half naked all the time.

“I don’t need to wear that stupid scarf!”

“You need to for as long as I say you do. I’m not having you relapse.”

“But I’m all better now.”

“We need to keep your chest warm. Do you want to get an infection?”

Priam hummed in thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said facetiously.

“Priam…”

“I said I don’t wanna!”

“Don’t give me that tone!” Now Soren was also failing to keep his voice down. Ike smiled to himself, still on his side with his back to his bickering family. Today’s argument promised the use of magic. He could already feel a slight shift in the air. “Who do you think you are, to be so disrespectful?”

“I don’t want to wear it!”

“You’ll wear it, or you’ll stay inside all day.”

“Aww, come on, Mom! It’s warmer outside today. I’m not gonna get sick again.”

“I’d rather not take that chance. Now, _put it on_!”

“Make me!”

That was always the wrong thing to say to Soren. There was a shuffling, and then Priam yelped and ran to the other side of the tiny cabin. “Get back here!” Soren shouted.

“No!”

“Priam.” The sage’s fury was barely suppressed now. “If I have to _glue_ the damn thing on, you are going to wear it.”

“ _You_ wear it!”

Another brief chase around the table. “Don’t make me paralyze you!”

“Go ahead and try—AHH! OK, OK, I’ll wear it!” Soren was already getting out his tome, from the sound of Priam’s sudden turnaround.

“That’s what I thought.”

Stomping steps crossed back to the table, and a chair creaked as Priam dropped into it. Soren stepped over to the bed. “Are you awake, Ike?”

“Yeah. Sorta.” Ike turned over and sat up, catching Soren with a quick kiss.

“Do you want to sleep in today?”

“No. I’ll be up in a minute.” Somehow, Ike couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed with them. Listening to them argue was sometimes pleasant in its own way. It reminded him of being back in Tellius with the mercenaries. He looked past Soren, to where Priam was sulking at the table, half of his face concealed behind a red wool scarf. “Nice scarf,” he said, and Priam kicked a chair, a pout on his face.

“Don’t kick the furniture!” Soren snapped.

“I _didn’t_!” Priam whined.

“I heard you.”

“It was an accident!”

And they were off again, each determined to stand his ground. Ike lay back down with a chuckle. So much for sleeping in, indeed.


	23. Mom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Priam asks why he calls Soren "Mom".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like there would be a LOT more to it than this, as far as Soren's feelings on his own sex and gender, but I'm not sure if I'm the right person to write about that. It's a touchy subject. I don't want to just gloss over it, but I don't want to delve into it and not do it justice. Mixing the reality of intersexuality with the fantasy aspects, and adding the healthy dose of wish-fulfillment upon which this entire fic is based, may make for something completely incoherent. 
> 
> Anyway, I was feeling pretty crappy tonight - actually, for the past few months, really, as are most of us, I'm sure. Tonight, shit just hit the fan for me, and I found myself crying my eyes out at 3 am over something that probably isn't as big of a deal as I'm making it out to be. So, I figured I would post something to shift gears and get my mind off of things for a bit. I hope it's as cute to others as it is to me! 
> 
> Keep in mind that while my husband is trans, and I do have a window into the struggles of those with gender identity questions, I am by no means an expert. I'd hardly call myself aware, even. Don't expect a lesson in how intersex people live, either; that's something that is entirely up to the individual, and I wouldn't presume to try to represent their struggles with a silly fanfic like this. I just wanted to write up a quick piece on why Priam calls Soren "Mom" in my works.

“Mom?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you my mom, instead of my dad?”

Soren paused for a moment, the pen skidding to a halt over the paper. “Because I birthed you,” he said, and resumed writing.

He heard Priam shift, scooting across the wooden floor to come closer. “But you’re a man, right?”

“Yes.” He kept writing, dipping into the wellspring of patience that he extended only to his husband and to his son.

Priam hummed a little, leaning back on his palms to stare into the fireplace. It was burning bright, bathing them in light and warmth against the chill of late autumn. The sun had just set behind the surrounding forest, leaving only the firelight and the green wisp that hovered over Soren’s shoulder to shed light on his work.

Soren knew that the questions weren’t over yet. He wasn’t surprised when Priam said, after a long moment, “I have a friend from Valento, and she has two dads.”

“Hm.”

“How can she have two dads?”

“Perhaps they adopted her.”

“What’s ‘adopted’?”

Soren paused again, tapping his lower lip with the tip of the quill. “Some children are separated from their birth parents. Then, they might be adopted into another family. They may find new parents who did not give birth to them, but who take care of them as if they did.”

“Oh, OK.” Priam nodded and took a moment to digest the information. “So, I wasn’t adopted?”

“No. You came out of me.”

“Like the lamb?”

Briefly, Soren remembered the previous spring, when they had chanced upon an ewe giving birth. The lamb was a latecomer to its flock, but it had provided the opportunity to teach Priam about the circle of life. “Yes, like the lamb,” he said.

“But…” Priam’s thirsting mind had yet to be satisfied. “But, why did I come out of you if you’re a man?”

There weren’t many things that Soren refused to explain to his son, but that was one of them. “You just did,” he said, feeling his face heating up. “It just happened.”

“Are you a woman?”

“No.”

“You’re a man.”

“Yes.”

“OK.” Priam looked down at his toy sword, temporarily forgotten. He turned it over in his small hands, considering it. “People think you’re a woman,” he said at last.

“Hm.”

“Does it make you mad?” The boy was looking at Soren again. This time, Soren set down the quill and returned his son’s gaze.

“Not particularly. They can think what they want.” It was mostly true, in any case. Ike’s opinion was the only one that mattered to Soren. As long as Ike accepted him, then he wouldn’t worry about what the rest of the world thought. His Brand, his lineage, his upbringing, his awkwardness with social situations… and his sex. None of that mattered, in the end, as long as Ike loved him.

“Why didn’t you tell people that I was adopted?” Priam asked, bringing Soren back into the moment.

“I was very visibly pregnant with you, and I had to go to the clinic to give birth.” He resumed writing. “Nobody would have been fooled.”

“Then, why didn’t you pretend to be a woman, so people won’t talk about you?”

“People have always talked about me,” Soren said dismissively. “You’re better off if you don’t pay attention to them.”

“Really?”

He shot Priam a sharp look. “Really. People gossip, and you can’t stop them from that. Let them, and don’t let it bother you. Besides, I can think of worse things for them to call me than 'womanly'. I know what I am, and I know what I am not, and that is all I care about.”

“OK.”

Soren resumed his work. He was almost finished with another paragraph when Priam came to him suddenly and hugged him around the middle, his head butting under Soren’s arm. Soren set down the pen and returned the embrace. “What is it, Priam?” he asked, smoothing down spiky locks.

“I don’t care what anyone says,” Priam said, his voice muffled against Soren’s chest. “I like you just fine, even if you’re a man mom.”

“Priam…” Soren’s arms tightened just a bit around Priam’s shoulders. The emotions were too much for him, pushing against his heart and threatening to explode outward. “What am I going to do with you?” he sighed.

“Um… You could give me some bacon,” Priam suggested, and Soren snorted.

“You’ve just eaten dinner.”

“So?”

Soren scooped the boy up into his lap. “Impossible…” he groaned. “Fine, you can have _one_ piece. Only one, before bed.”

“Alright!” Priam kicked his legs happily, and Soren shook his head. Impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, this was partially inspired by my husband. Some people still refer to him with feminine pronouns, and he says that doesn't bother him. "He, she, it doesn't matter to me," is what he says. Sometimes, I think he exists on the spectrum somewhere, along with those who identify as non-binary. Gender is a complex issue. Sometimes, I think of him as existing outside of those boundaries. Maybe I'm projecting some onto Soren, but I like to think that he is so focused on what Ike thinks that he really couldn't care less about how others see him. He's used to the scorn of others; as long as Ike loves him, then he's OK.


	24. Blowout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ike comes face-to-face with one of the messier challenges of parenthood.
> 
> Priam's age: a few months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all you folks who have to deal with this kind of thing - you are wonderful. Keep fighting the good fight. Your courage far surpasses mine.

“Ba! Ba!”

Ike lowered his sword as soon as he heard the small but insistent voice calling to him. With a smile at the ready, he turned to see Soren standing in the open doorway to the cabin, Priam in his arms. The boy was leaning over as if he could cross the distance to Ike through sheer willpower alone.

“He was looking for you,” the sage said. “He kept glancing at the door because he could hear you training.”

Ike struck his sword into the earth and came forward, reaching out to take Priam into his arms. “Hey, Priam. Did you wanna come train with me?”

Soren shifted the boy to Ike and then leaned back against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a gentle expression on his face. Ike reached out to brush his fingers lightly across Soren’s cheek, and then turned his attention back to their son.

“Bababa!” Priam butted his head against Ike’s chest. He rested there, happy and secure in his father’s embrace. Ike held him close, careful to support his head. Priam was getting better at lifting himself up to look around, but Ike was still cautious with him. He held one hand just behind the child, in anticipation of a sudden jerk backwards – something that Priam delighted in doing, and which had once scared Ike so badly that he felt a few years fall from his lifespan.

“Do you want to take a break?” Soren asked.

“Guess I should,” Ike said, glancing up at the bright blue sky. “Do we have any more of that bread left?”

“I’ve already made you a sandwich,” Soren said. “Come inside when you’re ready.” He disappeared through the doorway, leaving the door open to invite the cool breeze of early spring.

Ike carried Priam over to the bench that was set under the front window. He leaned back against the side of the house, closing his eyes and feeling the sweat evaporating from his skin. Priam played with the neck of his shirt, tugging at it and chewing on it, making Ike chuckle. “You remind me of a puppy,” he said. “What do you think you’re gonna do, eat my shirt?”

By way of answer, Priam pulled back and frowned. Ike’s smile only widened in response. “What’re you thinking about, pup?” he asked.

The subject of Priam’s focus became apparent, not by sight, but by smell. Ike’s smile dropped from his face as he gave a sniff and recoiled. “Oh…”

Ike stared at Priam, who stared back almost defiantly. It wasn’t that Ike had never changed a diaper before, but it had been such a long time since they had set out from Tellius and left their nieces and nephews behind. Typically, Soren was so fastidious about keeping Priam clean that Ike never had the chance to step in.

Well, Ike figured, now was the opportunity.

“OK, let’s get you changed, then,” he said, standing up and holding Priam almost at arm length, his hands beneath the boy’s arms as Priam’s feet kicked in the air. He moved to walk into the house, and then stopped just beyond the threshold. “Soren, Priam needs, uh, changing…”

Soren was standing at the counter, elbow-deep in a turkey carcass. “I’ll take care of it in a minute—”

“No, I’m going to do it. I just…” he looked around at the available surfaces. “Where should I…?”

“Seriously?” Soren’s eyebrow arched.

“Inside or outside?” Ike asked, determined to ignore the look of incredulity on his husband’s face. When Soren continued to stare at him wordlessly, Ike said, “I don’t mind. Just tell me where.” 

“Inside. There.” Soren nodded to the bed.

“What, on the bed?”

“Spread a towel out,” Soren said.

Ike groaned. It seemed extremely unsanitary to him, but he followed Soren’s directions, grabbing a fresh towel from the cupboard as he tried to maneuver Priam in one arm. It was quite a task, especially as he was attempting to keep the child’s rear as far away from himself as possible.

“Ike?” Soren was looking at him in confusion.

“I got it,” Ike said, carrying the towel and the baby over to the bed. “OK, towel’s down… Priam’s down… Where are the diapers?”

“In the cabinet.”

“Right.” Ike was feeling more and more like a failure. He was a father, and yet he had no idea where the diapers were even kept. He opened the cabinet by the washbasin and grabbed one of the crisp white cloths. Then he hesitated.

As if reading Ike’s mind, Soren said, “You’ll need one of the blue rags. Dip it into the water and wring it out well.”

“I knew that,” Ike said, following orders dutifully and wondering why he was having so much trouble with this. Surely it hadn’t been that long since he’d changed Priam, had it?

Gathering supplies turned out to be the easy part. Keeping Priam still was the true challenge. “OK, hold still, pup… No, don’t do that… Stop wiggling so much… Dammit…!”

Whatever Ike had been imagining turned out to be far from the truth. As he unpinned and unraveled the used diaper, his horror steadily grew into pure terror. “By the Goddess, where did it all _come from_?!”

Now Soren was watching Ike curiously. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little…”

“I am not afraid,” Ike growled. “I’m just… Hell, look at this! It’s on his leg!”

Soren’s mouth quirked as he stifled a laugh. “Do you need some help over there?”

“No. I can handle this. I’m his father, this is no big deal.”

With a shrug, Soren turned back to carving up the turkey. Ike’s distress seemed quelled for a moment, but soon he was voicing his thoughts once more.

“Ugh… This is… No, Priam, _no_. Hold sti—Dammit, where’d it go? OK, here we—Priam, stop that! Agh, it’s all up your back…! How the hell did you _do this_? Soren, what are you _feeding_ him?! He’s gone and—Don’t PLAY with it, Priam!”

By now, Soren could hardly contain his laughter. “Do you want some help?” he asked.

“No!” Ike’s answer was sharp, but Soren could detect an edge of desperation. “No, I’ve got this. I’m his father, I’m going to do this!”

Soren brought the knife down to separate a wing from the carcass. “Ike, are you… squeamish about this?”

“Of course not!”

The sage bit back a laugh. “You’ve killed people. How is _this_ more difficult?”

“GODDESS, he’s doing it AGAIN!”

“I know for a fact that you once fell face-first into a pile of horse dung. Are you saying that this is worse than that?”

“It’s just so… Gah, it’s _everywhere_!”

Apparently, Ike’s reactions were highly amusing to Priam. Soren could hear him giggling. The sage was tempted to follow suit. “Are you sure you don’t want some help?”

“I’m his father! I can do this!”

“Hm. Well, if you do…”

“Goddess, was I this bad? I’m sorry, Father…”

“I don’t think Commander Greil would have put up such a fuss,” Soren said lightly. “I’m sure he could change a diaper quite efficiently.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“If it has to be.”

There was silence for a while. Ike had knuckled down, it seemed. Now and then, Soren could hear him muttering under his breath. The sage was beginning to wonder if he should just take over, anyway, when he heard Ike’s heavy footsteps leaving the cabin.

The water pump squeaked outside, and Soren glanced to the bed, which was now deserted. He was pouring water into the stock pot when Ike came back inside. “Well?” he inquired, wiping his hands on a towel.

Ike’s face was set in smug satisfaction as he plopped Priam onto the table: clean, dry, and wearing a fresh and perfectly pinned nappy. Soren smiled. “Well done,” he said. “You have surpassed one more hurdle of parenthood. How does it feel?”

“I’ve seen horrible things on the battlefield…” Ike said slowly. “But what I’ve seen today will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

Soren rolled his eyes. “Dramatic.”

“Is it like that every time?”

“No, only now and then,” Soren said. “Typically, I change him often enough that it never gets that bad.”

Ike shuddered. “How does that not bother you? You hate anything dirty.”

“Hm, I suppose it’s just a task to me. I don’t really think about it.” Soren turned and muttered a spell to light the stove. “Besides, it’s satisfying when it’s done and he’s clean again.”

“I guess so.” Ike looked down at Priam, who was playing with his own feet. “Uh, Soren? I’m… sorry that I’ve been so… well…”

“It’s alright,” Soren said, knowing what Ike was trying to say. “I’m so quick to change him that I hardly think you’ve had a chance.”

“Well, that’s going to change.” Ike frowned. “From now on, let me do it, too. I should help with things like this.”

“Alright, but I won’t be responsible for any psychological damage you incur.”

“Hey, I’m not that fragile!” Ike huffed.

“Oh, Goddess, it’s everywhere!” Soren said in a mockery of Ike’s voice. He smirked as Ike picked up Priam and turned away.

“Let’s go, Priam. Mommy’s being a dick,” Ike said, carrying the boy outside again. Soren finally let out a laugh as he grabbed the damp kitchen towel, ran to the open window, and chucked it at Ike’s head.


End file.
